UC-NRLF 


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AN    INTRODUCTION    TO 
PSYCHOLOGY 


BY 


MARY   WHITON    CALKINS 

PROFESSOR    OF    PHILOSOPHY    AND    PSYCHOLOGY 
IN    WELLESLEY    COLLEGE 


¥ciu  fork 
THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Ltd. 
1901 

All  rights  reserved 


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Copyright,  igoi. 
By  the   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Nortofloti  53rc3B 

J.  S.  CushiiiK  &  Co.  -  Berwick  .V  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

For  pressing  into  the  crowded  ranks  of  psychological 
text-books,  this  volume  has  one  practical  excuse  to  offer,  — 
the  convenience  of  the  students  to  whom  its  author  lec- 
tures. The  book  is  written  in  the  conviction  that  psy- 
chology should  study  consciousness,  both  as  a  series  of 
complex  mental  processes,  or  ideas,  and  as  a  relation  of 
conscious  selves  to  each  other.  It  is  hoped,  however,  that 
the  two  points  of  view  have  been  so  carefully  distinguished 
that  the  book  may  be  useful  to  readers  who  reject  one  or 
other  of  these  underlying  conceptions. 

As  its  name  implies,  the  book  is  intended  for  students 
beginning  the  study  of  psychology  ;  and,  —  except  for  the 
last  chapter  and  parts  of  the  Appendix,  —  it  substantially 
reproduces  a  first  course,  as  actually  given.  References 
to  psychological  literature  and  formulations  of  conflicting 
theories  are  included,  in  the  belief  that,  in  the  use  of  text- 
books, "  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp,"  and  with 
the  conviction  that  excessively  simplified  statements,  un- 
supported by  reference  to  different  writers,  tend  to  breed 
in  the  student  a  dogmatic  or  an  unduly  docile  habit  of 
thought.  The  references,  like  the  supplementary  discus- 
sions of  the  Appendix,  are  meant  also  for  the  use  of  the 
more  advanced  student.  The  section  on  the  structure  and 
functions  of  the  nervous  system  has  been  added,  for  the 
practical  advantage  of  including,  within  the  covers  of 
one  book,  all  that  is  absolutely  essential  to  the  first-year 
student. 

V 

91023 


vi  Preface 

The  text-book,  however,  is  a  necessary  yet  a  subsidiary 
adjunct  to  the  study  of  any  science.  It  is  useful  only  as 
it  stimulates,  directs,  verifies  and  supplements  the  indi- 
vidual observation  of  the  reader.  This  book  has  been 
written,  accordingly,  with  the  constant  purpose  of  leading 
students  to  the  independent  and  careful  study  of  their 
own  consciousness.  It  is  highly  desirable  that  such  intro- 
spective study  should  be  supplemented  by  experiments, 
performed  by  the  student  under  direction,  and  that  this 
experimental  introspection  should  precede,  instead  of  fol- 
lowing, the  study  of  every  division  of  the  text.  Detailed 
references  are  given,  at  appropriate  points,  to  the  two 
English  manuals  of  experimental  psychology. 

The  general  reader  who  may  open  this  volume  should 
be  warned  against  certain  technical  chapters.  He  will  do 
well  to  skim  Part  I.,  omitting  entirely  Chapters  VII.  and 
VIII. ;  and  he  should  especially  devote  himself  to  Part  II., 
from  which,  however,  he  may  drop  out  Chapters  XIII., 
XVIIL,  and  XIX. 

The  final  paragraph  in  this  Preface  is  the  pleasantest, 
in  all  the  book,  to  write,  for  it  contains  my  acknowledg- 
ments to  the  people  who  have  helped  me.  My  greatest 
indebtedness  is  to  Professors  William  James  and  Hugo 
Miinsterberg.  One  of  the  distinctive  theories  of  the  book 
—  the  existence  of  elements  of  consciousness  which  are 
neither  sensational  nor  affective  —  is  simply  a  developed 
and  systematized  statement  of  the  teaching  of  James,  and 
the  frequent  quotations  from  the  "  Principles  of  Psychol- 
ogy "  are  better  reading  than  any  original  paragraph  in 
the  book.  The  second  fundamental  theory  of  this  book, 
the  conception  of  psychology  as  a  science  of  related  selves, 
is  closely  affiliated  with  Miinsterberg's  conception  of  his- 
tory as  science  of  the  relations  of  willing  subjects  ;  and 
few  chapters  of  the  book  are  uninfluenced  by  his  vigorous 


Preface  vii 

teaching.  A  list  of  the  text-books  and  monographs,  by 
which  I  have  especially  profited,  would  be  very  long,  but 
would  certainly  include  the  names  of  Kulpe,  Titchener, 
Ward,  Stout,  Brentano,  and  Flechsig.  I  owe,  also,  more 
than  I  can  well  express  to  the  viva  voce  suggestions  and 
criticisms  of  my  colleague.  Professor  Mary  S.  Case,  and 
of  my  former  teacher,  Professor  Edmund  C.  Sanford. 
And,  finally,  my  warm  thanks  are  due  to  my  father,  who 
has  indefatigably  read  manuscript  and  proof,  to  Mrs.  C.  L. 
Franklin,  who  has  read  the  discussion  of  color-theories, 
and  to  my  colleague,  Dr.  E.  A.  McC.  Gamble,  who  has 
added  a  section  to  the  Appendix  and  has  critically  read 
most  of  the  manuscript.  To  Dr.  Gamble's  criticism  of  the 
chapters  on  sensation  and  on  affection,  I  am  especially 
indebted.  Figures  3,  5,  6,  7,  9,  10,  11,  12,  13,  14  and  18, 
which  illustrate  portions  of  the  text,  are  reproduced  or 
adapted,  by  the  kind  permission  of  Henry  Holt  and  Co., 
from  James's  "Principles  of  Psychology"  and  "Briefer 
Psychology  "  and  from  Martin's  "  Human  Body." 

September,  1901. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER   I 
Nature  and  Methods  of  Psychology 

I'AGE 

I.     Nature  of  Psychology  .......        3 

II.     Methods  of  Psychology       . 7 

BOOK    I 

INTROSPECTIVE   PSYCHOLOGY   OF  THE  NORMAL 
•CONSCIOUSNESS 

Part  I 
Stntctural  Elements  of  Consciousness 

CHAPTER   II 

Visual  Sensations 17 

I.     Sensational  Elements  of  Color    ...         .         .         .         .18 

II.     Sensational  Elements  of  Colorless  Light     ....       28 

III.     Sensational  Elements  of  Brightness    .....       42 

CHAPTER    III 

Auditory  Sensations 

I.     Sensational  Elements  of  Pitch  and  Noise    ....       46 
II.     Sensational  Elements  of  Loudness       .....       53 

ix 


X  Table  of  Contents 

CHAPTER   IV 
Sensations  of  Taste  and  of  Smell 

PAGE 

I.     Sensations  of  Taste 55 

II.     Sensations  of  Smell 59 

CHAPTER   V 

Sensations  of  Pressure,  of  Pain  and  of  Temperature 

I.     The  Sensation  of  Pressure 65 

II.     The  Sensations  of  Pain 71 

III.     Sensations  of  Temperature 76 

CHAPTER   VI 

Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation  and  the 
Consciousness  of  Motion 

I.  Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation: 

a.  Sensations  of  Strain 80 

b.  Alleged  Sensations  of  Position 81 

c.  The  Alleged  Sensations  of  Dizziness  ....  84 

d.  Alleged  Organic  Sensations  from  Internal  Stimulus      .  84 

II.  The  Consciousness  of  Motion 86 

CHAPTER   VII 
The  Consciousness  of  Extensity 

I.     The  Elemental  Consciousness  of  Extensity: 

a.  Visual  Extensity         .......       8g 

b.  Pressure-extensity       .....•■       9- 

c.  Extensity  of  Sounds  and  of  Other  Sensation-classes   .       93 
II.     The  Developed  Consciousness  of  Extensity: 

a.  Consciousness  of  Surface   .         .         .         •         •         -95 

b.  Consciousness  of  Distance  or  Depth  ....       97 

CHAPTER   VIII 
Sensational  Element  and  Sensation    .....     103 

Summaries,  pp.  109,  no. 


Tabic  of  Contents  xi 


CHAPTER   IX 

Attributive  Elements  of  Consciousness 

PAGE 

I      The  Affections 113 

II.     The  Feelings  of  Realness 124 

CHAPTER  X 
Relational  Elements  of  Consciousness       .        .        .        .128 

CHAPTER   XI 
Attention =        '^2)1 

Part  II 

Concrete  Conscious  Experiences 

CHAPTER   XII 

Concrete  Conscious  Experiences 149 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Fusion  and  Association 157 

Summaries,  pp.  160,  167. 

CHAPTER   XIV 
Perception 

I.  (Percept  and  Perceiving) i6g 

II.     (Analysis  and  Classification) I73 

Summary,  p.  179. 

CHAPTER   XV 

Imagination 

I.     (Image  and  Imagining) 1S5 

II.  (Analysis  and  Classification) 189 

Summary,  p.  190, 


xii  Tabic  of  Contents 


chaptp:r  XVI 

PAGE 

Imagination  {continued)  :  Memory 210 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Thought  :  Generalization 

I.     (Thought  and  Thinking) 218 

II.     (Analysis  and  Classification)  : 

a.   Generalization 221 

CHAPTER   XVIII 
Thought:  Judgment  and  Reasoning 

d.    The  Simple  Judgment         ......     234 

c.  Reasoning  ........     240 

CHAPTER   XIX 

Recognition 

I.     (Recognition  and  Recognizing)  ......     252 

II.     (The  Feeling  of  Familiarity) 254 

CHAPTER   XX 

Emotion 

I.     (Emotion  as  Idea  and  as  Relation  of  Self)  .         .         .     263 

II.     (Analysis  and  Classification) 265 

Summary,  p.  266. 

a.    Personal  Emotion       .......     266 

d.  Impersonal  Emotion  .......     276 

Summary,  p.  277. 

III.     (Physiological  Conditions   and  Accompaniments  of  Emo- 
tion)         285 

Summary,  p.  289. 


Table  of  Contents 


Xlll 


I. 

II. 
III. 


CHAPTER   XXI 
Volition  and  Belief.    Will  and  Faith 


a.  Volition 

b.  Belief    . 

a.  Will       . 

b.  Faith     . 
(Classification) 


Summary,  p.  313. 
CHAPTER  XXII 


Typical  Personal  Relations. 
Consciousness 


The  Religious 


I .     Typical  Personal  Relations  . 
II.     The  Religious  Consciousness 


PAGE 

311 
313 


323 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

The  Social  Consciousness 33 1 

I.     Forms  of  Social  Consciousness 333 

II.     Imitation  and  Opposition 339 


BOOK   II 

COMPARATIVE  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  ABNORMAL 
PSYCHOLOGY 

CHAPTER   XXIV 
Divisions  of  Psychology         ...... 

Summary,  p.  351. 


351 


Part  I 

Comparative  Psychology 

CHAPTER   XXV 

The  Psychology  of  the  Animal  Consciousness  . 
I.     Structural  Elements  of  the  Animal  Consciousness : 
a.    Sensational  Consciousness 


355 
356 


xiv  Table  of  Contents 


b.  Relational  Experiences : 

1.  Recognition       .......  367 

2.  Thouglit    ........  367 

c.  Affections  and  Emotions    ......  372 

II.     The  Personal  and  Social  Consciousness  of  Animals    .         .  374 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  Psychology  of  the  Child's  Consciousness  .        .        .  382 

I.     The  Consciousness  of  the  Baby  ......  384 

II.     The  Consciousness  of  Little  Children  ....  392 


Part  II 

Abnormal  Psychology 

CHAPTER    XXVII 

Abnormal  Conscious  States  of  Persons  in  Health 

I.     Phenomena  of  Abnormal  Consciousness: 

a.  Dreams      ......-••     397 

b.  Abnormal  Experiences  of  the  Waking  Life : 

1 .  Waking  Illusions  and  Hallucinations  .         .  402 

2.  Automatic  Writing 405 

c.  Hypnosis   ....••■••  4°^ 
II.     Analogy  of  Abnormal  States  to  the  Normal  Experience       .  413 

III.     Differences  of  Abnormal  and  Normal  States : 

a.  Changes  in  Personality 4^5 

b.  Veridical  Experiences.     Telepathy     .         .         .  4-o 


CONCLUSION 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

The  HisioRY  of  Psychological  Systems      ....    424 


* 


Tabic  of  Contents  xv 
APPENDIX 

PAGE 

Sect.  I.     Structure  and  Functions  of  tlic  Nervous  System       .  449 

Sect.  II.     Aphasia 460 

Sect.  III.     Sensational  Elements  of  Color  and  Colorless  Light: 

I.    Theories        .......  464 

II.    Certain  Phenomena  of  Color-vision: 

a.  Contrast  Phenomena     ....  473 

b.  Color  Blindness    .....  475 

c.  The  Purkinje  Phenomenon  .         .         .  478 

Sect.  IV.     The  Physical  and  the  Physiological  Conditions  of 

Sensations  of  Smell.     By  E.  A.  McC.  Gamble  .  480 

Sect.  V.     End-organs  of  Pressure  and  of  Pain: 

I.     End-organs  of  Pressure  :   Von  Frey's  Theory  482 
II.    Theories  of  the  Physiological  Excitation  of 

Pain 484 

Sect.  VI.     Bodily  Movements 485 

Sect.  VII.     Theories  of  Attention 486 

Bibliography 492 

Index  of  Subjects 504 

Index  of  Authors 510 


INTRODUCTION 


CHAPTER   I 

NATURE   AND   METHODS   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 
I.    Nature  of  Psychology 

All  psychologists  would  agree  to  define  their  subject, 
at  least  in  an  introductory  and  provisional  way,  as  the 
science  of  consciousness.  But  this  definition  is  not  en- 
lightening unless  its  terms  are  thoroughly  understood,  and 
we  must  at  once,  therefore,  proceed  to  discuss  the  nature 
of  a  science. 

'  Science  is  the  systematic  study  of  facts.  It  must  be 
distinguished  both  from  philosophy  and  from  the  every- 
day consciousness.  From  the  latter  it  differs  only  in 
method,  for  both  science  and  the  everyday  consciousness 
have  to  do  with  phenomena  or  facts ;  but  science  studies 
these  phenomena  critically,  analyzes  them  into  their  ulti- 
mate parts,  and  classifies  them  by  their  most  essential  like- 
nesses, whereas  the  everyday  consciousness  observes  facts 
uncritically,  as  conglomerates,  with  little  or  no  analysis 
and  with  only  a  superficial  recognition  of  the  most  striking 
likenesses.  So,  for  example,  the  tourist,  wandering  over 
the  ground  of  a  recent  excavation  in  Greece,  sees  a  frag- 
ment of  marble,  and  classifies  it  hastily  as  '  some  part  of 
a  temple.'  The  trained  archaeologist  examines  the  same 
bit  of  stone,  finds  traces  of  half-obliterated  flutings,  and 
unhesitatingly  assigns  it  to  a  place  in  the  triglyph  of  a 
particular  temple  or  treasure-house.  In  the  same  way, 
the  untrained  ear  hears  only  a  multitude  of  minghng  bird- 
notes,  whereas  the  naturalist  recognizes  this  as  the  note 
of  the  oriole,  and  that  as  the  trill  of  a  warbler ;  the 
careless  observer  sees  only  a  scarred  rock,  but  the  geolo- 

3 


4  Nature  of  Psychology 

gist  identifies  the  marks  on  its  weather-beaten  surface  as 
glacial  scratchings ;  and  the  ordinary  reader  sees  nothing 
remarkable  in  a  word  which  the  philologist  studies  for 
months  in  his  efforts  to  discover  its  exact  affiliations. 
Now,  in  all  these  cases  it  is  evident,  as  has  been  said,  that 
the  objects  of  the  scientific  and  the  everyday  conscious- 
ness are  the  same,  —  architectural  fragments,  bird-notes, 
rock  surfaces  and  words.  But  the  two  differ  widely  in 
their  method  ;  and  the  ordinary  observer  knows  nothing  of 
the  close  observation  nor  of  the  analytic  and  systematic 
classification  of  the  scientist. 

When  we  turn  to  the  contrast  between  science  and 
philosophy,  we  find  a  reversal  of  the  situation.  For  meta- 
physics, like  science,  analyzes,  classifies,  and  seeks  to 
explain.  The  contrast  between  the  two  must  be  sought 
mainly  in  the  object  of  the  study  rather  than  in  the 
method.  Philosophy  is  the  attempted  study  of  the  self- 
dependent  whole  of  reality,  or  of  partial  realities  as  related 
to  this  fundamental  whole.  A  science  is,  on  the  contrary, 
a  systematic  study  of  facts  or  phenomena ;  that  is,  of 
limited  or  partial  realities,  as  related  to  each  other  without 
reference  to  a  more  fundamental  reality.  We  must  justify 
this  definition  in  some  detail. 

It  is  entirely  certain,  in  the  first  place,  that  every  science 
has  a  more  or  less  limited  sphere  of  study.  Physics  does 
not  investigate  the  chemical  constitution  of  its  masses ; 
geology  does  not  analyze  and  classify  mineralogical  phe- 
nomena; philology,  though  allied  to  epigraphy,  does  not 
concern  itself  with  the  new  forms  of  letters.  Science 
never,  then,  "  aims  at  the  whole  world  generally " ;  its 
objects  are  always  definitely  limited.  It  is  equally  clear 
that  scientific  facts  or  phenomena  are  related  to  each 
other,  since  scientific  investigation  is  constantly  linking 
facts  together  and  explaining  the  one  by  the  other.  The 
pulse-beat  cannot  be  understood  except  as  connected 
with  the  contraction  of  the  heart  and  the  dilation  of  the 
arteries ;    the    explosion    is    dependent   on    the    firing    of 


Nucure  of  Psychology  5 

the  fuse ;  a  national  costume  is  related  to  facts  of  climate. 
Every  fact,  in  a  word,  is  recognized  as  dependent  on 
others. 

It  may  be  shown,  finally,  that  the  scientist  does  not  seek 
to  relate  his  phenomena  to  ultimate  or  total  reality.  He 
does  not  ask  if  the  rock  or  the  bodily  tissue  is  ultimately 
a  spiritual  or  a  material  reality.  He  rests  content  when 
the  physiological  phenomenon  has  been  reduced'  to  its 
lowest  chemical  elements,  when  the  physical  fact  of  light 
or  heat  has  been  hypothetically  transformed  into  its  espe- 
cial modes  of  vibration  ;  and  he  does  not  ask  "  What  is  the 
place  of  chemical  element  and  of  ether  wave  in  the  system 
of  total  reality  .''  "  The  problems  of  ultimate  reality  belong 
to  philosophy,  not  to  science  ;  for  philosophy  is,  as  has  been 
said,  the  attempt  to  study  either  the--s€lf-dependent  whole 
of  reality,  or  a  partial  reality  as  related  to  the  whole.  It 
studies,  therefore,  the  ultimate  nature  of  every  phenomenon 
of  science,  —  self  and  thought,  bodily  tissue  and  physical 
mass,  —  and  it  seeks  not  only  to  relate  each  phenomenon 
with  every  other,  but  to  fit  it  into  a  complete  scheme  of 
reality. 

It  may  now  be  pointed  out  that  psychology  has  both 
characteristics  of  a  science.  From  the  everyday  observa- 
tion of  consciousness,  it  is  distinguished  by  its  systematic 
method  of  analysis  and  classification.  Instead  of  casually 
observing  merely  the  more  unusual  psychological  phe- 
nomena, jDranks  of  the  imagination,  feats  of  logic  or 
peculiarities  of  the  dream-life,  the  psychologist  carefully 
observes  and  analyzes  all  psychological  phenomena,  ordi- 
nary as  well  as  extraordinary,  and  systematically  classifies 
them.  As  opposed  to  philosophy,  on  the  other  hand, 
psychology  sturdily  refuses  to  study  the  nature  of  the 
soul,  its  permanence  or  immortality  and  its  relation  to 
matter,  and  simply  analyzes  the  forms  of  self-consciousness 
or  studies  people  in  their  social  relations. 

We  have  next  to  distinguish  psychology  from  the  physi- 
cal sciences.     All  sciences  deal  with  facts,  and  there  are 


6  Nature  of  Psychology 

two  great  classes  of  facts,  —  Selves  and  Facts-for-the- 
Selves.  But  the  second  of  these  great  groups,  the  Facts- 
for-the-Selves,  is  again  capable  of  an  important  division 
into  Internal  and  External  Facts.  To  the  first  class  belong 
percepts,  images,  memories,  thoughts,  emotions  and  voli- 
tions, inner  events  as  we  may  call  them;  to  the  second 
class  belong  the  things  and  the  events  of  the  outside  world, 
the  physical  facts,  as  we  may  name  them. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  actually  do  make  these 
sharp  distinctions  :  first,  the  contrast  between  selves  and 
all  other  facts ;  and  second,  the  opposition  of  our  per- 
cepts, feelings  and  thoughts,  the  inner  phenomena,  to  the 
outside  things  and  events.  When  we  examine  this  last 
contrast  we  find  two  reasons  for  it.  In  the  first  place,  the 
inner  facts,  the  memories,  emotions  and  all  the  rest,  are 
reahzed  as  private,  unshared  experiences  belonging  to  me 
alone ;  whereas  the  things  or  events  are  public,  shared 
facts,  common  property,  as  it  were.  My  fear  or  delight 
is  my  own  private  experience,  and  so,  for  that  matter,  is 
my  perception,  for  I  have  my  own  particular  way  of  look- 
ing at  everything,  which  I  share  with  no  one  else.  But 
the  beast  who  frightens  me,  the  spring  day  which  delights 
me,  the  sunset  of  which  I  have  my  own  particular  percep- 
tion —  all  these  are  public  facts  shared  with  an  unlimited 
number  of  other  selves,  facts  which  no  longer  bear  the 
stamp  of  my  individuality.  Close  upon  this  difference  fol- 
lows another.  Just  because  the  shared  or  public  facts  are 
not  referred  to  any  particular  self,  they  tend  to  seem  inde- 
pendent of  all  selves  and  to  become  externalized ;  whereas 
the  private  facts  continue  to  be  referred  to  a  self,  and  in 
this  way,  also,  are  contrasted  with  events  or  things  which 
seem  to  us  quite  cut  off  from  selves.  The  physical  sciences 
study  these  common  and  apparently  independent  or  exter- 
nalized facts ;  psychology  as  distinguished  from  them  is 
the  science  of  consciousness,  the  study  of  selves  and  of  the 
inner  facts-for-selves.  The  following  summary  will  make 
this  clearer :  — 


Methods  of  PsycJiology 


Science:  — 
of  selves 


Psychology 


of  ideas 


Facts  (Phenomena) : 
Selves 

Facts-for-Selves 


Private ; 
unshared  ; 
referred  to 
selves 


Science : 


Public; 

shared ; 

externalized 


Physical 
Sciences 


II.    Methods  of  Psychology 

We  have  suggested  already  that  science  has  two  essential 
methods  —  analysis  and  classification.  To  the  scientific 
treatment  of  any  object  it  is  necessary  first,  that  it  be  re- 
duced to  relatively  simple  parts,  and  next,  that  these  parts 
be  grouped  and  arranged,  according  to  their  important  like- 
nesses and  differences,  in  an  orderly  and  systematic  manner. 
Every  recognized  science,  or  division  of  a  science,  is  an 
illustration  of  these  statements.  The  chemical  compound 
is  reduced  to  its  elements ;  the  physical  movement  is  shown 
to  be  a  composition  of  interacting  forces ;  the  human  body 
is  analyzed  into  its  tissues.  Similarly,  the  philologist  breaks 
up  a  complex  verb  form  into  stem  or  modified  root,  mood, 
tense,  personal  ending,  reduplication  and  augment ;  and  the 
historian  studies  a  given  period  according  to  its  political,  its 
economic,  its  ethical  and  its  literary  aspects.  The  second 
of  these  methods  is  equally  manifest  in  the  procedure  of 
every  scientist.  A  chemical  combination  of  an  acid  with 
a  base  is  classified,  for  example,  as  a  sulphate  or  as  a  chlo- 
rate, according  as  sulphur  or  chlorine  is  a  part  of  it ;  physi- 
cal phenomena  are  optical  or  acoustic,  according  as  they 
consist  of  ether  or  of  atmosphere  vibrations ;  verbs  are 
allied  with  each  other  by  a  common  method  of  redupli- 
cation ;  and  historic  periods,  however  chronologically  dis- 
tinct, are  grouped  together  by  the  historian  as  conservative 
or  revolutionary,  as  creative  or  as  imitative. 


8  Methods  of  Psychology 

There  is  a  third  scientific  method  and  one  of  great 
significance  —  explanation.  In  one  sense,  to  be  sure,  expla- 
nation is  merely  a  general  term  which  covers  both  analysis 
and  classification.  So,  for  example,  one  may  be  said  to 
explain  salt  when  one  has  classified  it  with  the  chlorides 
and  analyzed  it  into  one  part  of  sodium  and  one  of  chlorine. 
In  this  sense  it  is,  of  course,  true  that  every  science  is 
explanatory  simply  because  it  is  analytic  and  systematic. 
Explanation,  however,  has  a  more  distinctive  meaning : 
to  explain  means  not  merely  to  describe  and  to  classify,  but 
to  assign  the  cause,  to  account  for  a  phenomenon.  The 
sulphuric  acid,  for  example,  is  not  merely  analyzed  into  its 
elements  and  allied  with  the  other  sulphur  compounds,  but 
is  explained  as  due  to  certain  mechanical  or  thermal  pro- 
cesses and  to  certain  chemical  affinities ;  the  movement 
which  has  been  described  as  an  interplay  of  opposing 
forces  is  traced  to  a  falling  weight ;  the  verbal  form  which 
has  been  analyzed  into  its  elements  is  explained  as  the 
result  of  a  peculiar  conformation  of  lips  and  palate ;  the 
civic  revolution  is  discussed  as  the  termination  of  a  long 
series  of  preparatory  events.  Explanation,  however, 
though  immensely  important,  is  not  an  essential  method 
of  science.  When  one  has  reduced  a  phenomenon  to  its 
simplest  parts,  and  classified  it  by  its  similarities  and  dif- 
ferences, one  has  treated  it  scientifically  even  if  one  has 
not  gone  on  to  explain  it  by  reference  to  some  other 
phenomenon. 

The  methods  of  psychology  are,  in  general,  these  three 
methods  of  every  science :  analysis,  ^classification  and 
explanation.  But  besides  these  fundamental  forms  of 
procedure,  every  science  has  certain  methods  peculiar  to 
itself ;  and  the  method  which  distinguishes  psychology 
is  that  of  introspection.  This  follows  directly  from  what 
has  been  said  of  the  subject-matter  of  psychology.  Its 
facts  are  not  the  common,  independent,  externalized  facts 
of  the  physical  sciences,  but  the  inner  facts,  selves  and 
ideas.     To  observe   the  psychic    fact  one  has  not,  there- 


Introspection  9 

fore,  to  sweep  the  heavens  with  a  telescope,  nor  to  travel 
about  in  search  of  rare  geological  formations ;  but  one  has 
merely  to  ask  oneself  such  questions  as  :  "  How  do  I 
actually  feel?"  "What  do  I  mean  when  I  say  that  I 
perceive,  remember,  believe  ?  " 

The   method    has  obvious    advantages.       It   makes   no 
especial    conditions    of    time    and    place ;    it    requires    no 
mechanical  adjunct ;  it    demands    no    difficult    search    for 
suitable  material ;    at   any   moment,  in   all  surroundings, 
with  no  external  outfit,  one  may  study  the  rich  material 
provided  by  every  imaginable  experience.    In  an  extreme 
sense,  all  is  grist  that  comes  to  the  psychologist's  mill. 
The  apparent  facility  of   introspection   is,    however,    one 
of  its  greatest   dangers.      Nothing   seems  easier  than  to 
render  to  ourselves  a  true  account  of  what  goes  on  in  our 
consciousness.    We  are  tempted,  therefore,  to  overlook  the 
need  of  training  in  introspection  and  to  minimize  its  charac- 
teristic difficulties.     Chief  among  these  is  the  change  which 
it  makes  in  its  own  object.     To  attend  to  a  particular  experi- 
ence actually  alters  it.     If  I  ask  myself  in  the  midst  of  a 
hearty  laugh  "Just  what  is  this  feeling  of  amusement.?" 
forthwith  the  f eeHng  has  vanished,  and  a  strenuous,  serious 
mood  has  taken  its  place.     Much  the  same  is  true  of  every 
form   of   consciousness.     To   observe   myself    perceiving, 
remembering  or  judging  is  no  longer  simply  to  perceive, 
to  remember  and  to  judge,  but  to  reflect  upon  perception, 
memory  and  judgment.     It   is   true,  therefore,    as   many 
psychologists  have  shown,  that  introspection  is  never  of 
the  immediate  present,  but  is  rather  a  case  of  memory,  and 
subject,    therefore,  to    all   the   uncertainties    of   memory. 
When  I  introspect,  I  recall  the  experience  of  the  immedi- 
ate past ;  and  I  must  safeguard  my  introspection  by  seeing 
to  it  that  the  interval  is  short,  between  conscious  experi- 
ence and  analytic  observation  of  it.     Otherwise,  I  shall  fall 
into  a  mistake  so  common  that  Professor  James  has  called  it  ^ 

1  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  I.,  p.  196. 


lo  MetJiods  of  Psychology 

'  the  psychologist's  fallacy  '  — the  error  of  supposing  that 
my  present  consciousness  of  a  certain  situation  must  ex- 
actly resemble  my  past  experience  of  the  same  situation. 
The  confusion  becomes  greater  if  I  conclude  that  another 
man's  experience  is  exactly  what  mine  would  be  under 
similar  circumstances.  For  the  truth  is,  that  only  the  atten- 
tive recollection  of  an  experience  immediately  past  can  fur- 
nish us  with  the  primary  material  for  psychological  analysis, 
classification  and  explanation. 

This  verification  of  our  own  introspection  is  best  secured 
by  an  important  subsidiary  method  shared  by  psychology 
with  many  of  the  physical  sciences  —  tjie^method  of  experi- 
ment. To  experiment  is  to  regulate  artificially  the  condi- 
tions of  phenomena  in  such  wise  as  to  repeat,  to  isolate, 
and  to  vary  them  at  will.  In  a  multitude  of  ways,  there- 
fore, experiment  aids  scientific  observation.  Repetition  of 
phenomena  insures  accuracy  of  analysis,  and  makes  it  pos- 
sible to  verify  the  results  of  a  single  observation ;  isolation 
of  conditions  narrows  the  object  of  study,  and  avoids  the 
distraction  of  the  observer's  attention  ;  and,  finally,  varia- 
tion of  conditions  makes  it  possible  to  explain  a  phenom- 
enon exactly,  by  connecting  it  with  those  conditions  only 
which  it  always  accompanies. 

There  is  an  important  distinction  between  psychological 
and  physical  experimenting.  In  the  latter,  experiment 
deals  with  conditions  of  the  same  nature  as  the  facts  which 
are  studied.  Gas,  or  magnet,  or  nerve  is  directly  modified 
by  some  change  in  the  physical  environment,  such  as  heat, 
friction  or  electric  stimulation.  But  in  the  psychical  ex- 
periment the  artificial  condition  is  physical,  not  psychical ; 
that  is,  it  is  distinguished  in  its  nature  from  the  fact  to  be 
studied.  This  is  because  the  psychic  fact  can  be  neither 
repeated  nor  varied.  The  stream  of  consciousness  is  a 
swift-flowing  current  whose  waves  and  ripples  never  recur; 
and  no  experience  is  the  duplicate  of  another.  It  belongs, 
moreover,  to  the  very  nature  of  the  fact  of  consciousness 
that  it  cannot  be  directly  compared  with  another.     I  can 


Experiment  in  Psychology  1 1 

count  the  francs  that  I  have  paid  for  my  Elzevir  edition  of 
Hobbes's  "  De  Give,"  but  I  can  never  tell  how  much  I  enjoy 
it;  I  can  enumerate  the  details  of  memory  image,  but  I  can 
never  tell  how  vividly  I  remember.  Since,  however,  experi- 
ment requires  that  the  conditions  of  a  given  phenomenon  be 
repeated  and  varied  at  will,  it  is  evident  that  experiment 
must  concern  itself  with  the  physical  stimulation  of  psychic 
facts,  and  with  the  physical  reactions  to  these  stimuli. 
For  example,  though  I  cannot  measure  the  vividness  of  a 
memory  image,  I  can  count  the  number  of  repetitions  of  a 
series  of  words  which  I  read  aloud  to  the  person  on  whom 
I  experiment ;  and  I  can  compare  the  number  of  errors  he 
makes  in  repeating  the  word-series  when  he  has  heard  it 
once  only,  three  times  or  five  times  ;  or  I  may  compare  his 
errors  after  an  interval  of  ten  minutes,  of  an  hour,  of  a  day, 
or  of  a  week.  In  this  way  I  can  gain,  experimentally,  a 
conclusion  about  the  relation  of  memory  to  frequency  of 
experience  and  to  extent  of  intervening  time ;  and  by  re- 
peating the  experiment  many  times  with  the  same  indi- 
vidual and  with  others,  I  may  arrive  at  some  trustworthy 
general  conclusion. 

Psychological  experimenting,  as  is  shown  by  the  exam- 
ple just  given,  may  be  of  a  very  simple  sort,  and  may  well 
be  carried  on  without  formal  mechanism.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  may  employ  very  delicate  and  complicated  appa- 
ratus for  stimulating  the  different  sense-organs  in  different 
degrees  and  precisely  measured  times,  for  providing  exact 
and  variable  rhythms,  and  for  recording  various  physical 
reactions,  such  as  pulse-beats  and  breathing. 

Experiment,  it  should  be  added,  never  supplants,  but 
only  supplements  and  strengthens  introspection.  Experi- 
mental psychology  is  not,  therefore,  as  some  enthusiasts 
have  claimed,  a  '  new  psychology '  ;  and  experimental 
methods  are  of  value  chiefly  as  they  secure  the  stricter  ac- 
curacy of  introspection,  though  secondarily  as  they  aid  us 
to  infer  the  consciousness  of  children  and  of  animals  from 
their  reactions  to  artificial  stimuli. 


1 2  Divisions  of  Psychology 

A  preliminary  statement  must  be  added  concerning  the 
recognized  divisions  of  psychology/  The  modern  tendency 
is  toward  a  multiplication  and  a  corresponding  subdivision 
of  the  sciences.  The  reasons  for  this  progressive  subdi- 
viding are  not  far  to  seek.  The  more  carefully  one  studies 
scientific  phenomena  of  any  sort,  the  more  inevitable  the 
discovery  of  features,  unnoticed  in  the  general  survey, 
which  mark  off  one  group  of  facts  from  others  nearly  like 
it.  So,  for  instance,  branches  of  study  which  used  to  be 
massed  together  under  the  heading  '  natural  history  '  were 
later  sharply  differentiated  as  botany,  zoology  and  physi- 
ology, and  within  each  of  these  general  branches  there  are 
now  numberless  minor  groups  such  as  histology,  embry- 
ology, cryptogamic  botany. 

Psychology  is  no  exception  to  this  rule  of  progressive 
subdivision.  Normal  and  abnormal  psychology,  individual 
and  social  psychology,  adult  and  child  psychology,  are 
relatively  distinct  branches  of  it.  Still  another  distinction, 
not  always  explicitly  recognized,  on  which  this  book  will 
lay  great  stress,  is  that  of  the  psychology  of  ideas,  the 
study  of  succeeding  facts  of  consciousness  without  refer- 
ence to  conscious  selves,  and  the  psychology  of  selves,  that 
is,  the  study  of  consciousness  as  the  experience  of  related 
selves.  Fundamental  to  all  these  divisions,  from  the  stand- 
point of  methods,  is  still  another  —  the  division  into  in- 
trospective and  comparative  psychology.  Introspective 
psychology  is  the  study  of  one's  own  consciousness ;  and 
its  immediate  and  dominant  method  is  introspection.  Com- 
parative psychology  is  the  study  of  other  consciousness 
than  one's  own.  The  most  important  objects  of  its  study 
are  the  conscious  experiences  of  animals,  of  children, 
and  of  primitive  men.  Its  methods  are  the  careful  observa- 
tion of  the  words  or  actions  of  the  animals  and  people  whom 
it  studies,  and  the  inference  of  the  conscious  experience 
which  underlies  these  outer  manifestations.     Such  infer- 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XXIV. 


Divisions  of  Psychology  13 

ence  involves  introspection,  because  it  consists  in  attributing 
one's  own  experience,  under  given  circumstances,  to  other 
people ;  but  this  introspection,  because  imputed  to  others, 
must  be  distinguished  from  the  study  of  one's  own  con- 
sciousness. 

The  greater  part  of  this  book  will  be  devoted  to  normal 
introspective  psychology  ;  that  is,  to  the  study  of  the  normal 
civilized  and  adult  consciousness ;  for  a  thorough  study  of 
facts  of  one's  own  normal  experience  is  the  necessary 
introduction  both  to  the  introspective  study  of  one's  own 
abnormal  experience  and  to  the  comparative  study  of  the 
consciousness  of  other  human  beings. 


BOOK    I 

INTROSPECTIVE    PSYCHOLOGY   OF   THE    NORMAL 

CONSCIOUSNESS 


PART    I 

STRUCTURAL   ELEMENTS  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS 

CHAPTER   II 
VISUAL   SENSATIONS 

My  first  concern  as  psychologist  is  the  accurate  analysis 
of  my  consciousness.  For  the  purposes  of  this  introspec- 
tive analysis,  I  may  seize  upon  any  experience.  I  am 
looking  out  from  my  window,  let  us  say,  upon  Gloucester 
harbor  and  the  open  sea  beyond,  happily  consc*ous  of 
wooded  shores,  rippling  blue  waves,  cloudy  horizon,  white 
sails  and  salty  breeze ;  and  the  dory  moored  to  the  lichen- 
grown  rock  in  the  foreground  has  dimly  suggested  last 
evening's  sail  and  the  sunset  light  over  the  harbor.  In 
this  conscious  experience,  I  at  once  recognize  blueness, 
greenness,  grayness,  brovvnness,  saltiness  and  rippling 
sound  as  parts  of  the  experience.  Closer  scrutiny  will 
add  to  the  list  distance  and  form,  motion  (of  the  breeze), 
and  further,  the  red,  the  gold  and  the  motor  sensations 
which  belong  to  the  image  of  the  sunset  sail.  Even  now 
the  analysis  is  far  from  complete  ;  it  has  left  out  of  account 
the  pleasantness  of  the  whole  experience  and  the  feeling 
of  familiarity  which  accompanies  the  memory  of  the  sail. 
This  superficial  treatment  is,  however,  merely  preliminary 
to  the  accurate  analysis  of  the  psychologist :  the  experi- 
ence is  to  be  scrutinized  carefully,  in  the  hope  of  discover- 
ing other  elements  which  have  so  far  eluded  introspective 
recollection  ;  each  one  of  the  apparent  '  elements  '  is  then 
c  17 


1 8  Vis7ial  Sensations 

to  be  studied  experimentally,  and  to  be  further  analyzed  if 
that  is  possible ;  the  results  of  the  analysis  are  finally  to 
be  classified  and  so  far  as  possible  explained.  Following 
out  this  scheme,  we  shall  study  the  elements  of  conscious- 
ness in  the  order  already  suggested,  beginning  with  the 
consideration  of  colors  :  — 


I.    Sensational  Elements  of  Color 

Every  seeing  person  knows  what  blue  or  green  or  red 
or  yellow  is,  yet  nobody  can  describe  any  one  of  these 
experiences.  If  I  ask  you,  for  example,  "What  is  blue.'"' 
you  find  yourself  utterly  incapable  of  defining  it,  that  is, 
of  giving  its  meaning  in  other  terms,  and  you  are  reduced 
to  saying  helplessly,  "  Why  blue  —  is  blue;  it  is  itself  and 
nothing  besides  itself."  Our  inability  to  define  these  color 
experiences  is  a  proof  that  they  are  elements  of  conscious- 
ness. A  definition  is  an  enumeration  of  the  attributes  of 
that  which  is  defined;  and  to  define  anything,  it  is  there- 
fore necessary  to  analyze  it  into  its  attributes.  But  an 
element  is  precisely  that  part  of  any  fact  which  is  irredu- 
cible and  unanalyzable.  So  the  discovery  that  an  experi- 
ence cannot  be  defined  is  equivalent  to  the  assertion  that  it 
is  an  element  of  consciousness.  If  blue  were  made  up  of 
any  simpler  experiences  it  would  not  be  an  element,  and 
on  the  other  hand,  just  because  it  is  an  element,  we  cannot 
analyze  and  define  it.  We  shall  later  show^  that  the  color- 
elements  belong  to  the  class  of  '  sensational  qualities  ' ;  but 
for  the  present  we  shall  merely  appropriate,  without  ex- 
planation, the  terms  '  sensational'  and  'quality.' 

Very  naturally  we  now  inquire.  How  many  of  these 
indescribable  and  irreducible  color-elements  can  we  find 
in  our  experience }  And  here,  at  the  very  outset  of  our 
psychological  quest,  we  are  met  by  a  concrete  illustration 
of  the  difficulty  of  introspection.     For  very  different  opin- 

1  Cf.  Chapter  VIIL,  p.  103. 


Sensational  Elements  of  Color  19 

ions  are  held,  by  close  and  good  observers,  on  a  question 
apparently  so  simple  as  this  of  the  number  of  color- 
elements.  The  two  most  important  of  these  theories  will 
be  outlined. 

The  inrst  is  the  view  that  there  are  four,  and  only  four, 
sensational  color-elements  —  red,  yellow,  green  and  blue. 
According  to  this  theory,  neither  red,  yellow,  green  nor 
blue  can  be  analyzed  into  any  other  colors ;  red  is  not  a 
mixture  of  yellow  with  green  or  blue,  nor  a  compound  of 
any  color  with  gray ;  and  yellow,  blue  and  green  are 
equally  unanalyzable.  And  on  the  other  hand  all  other 
colors,  except  these  four,  are  analyzable  into  two  or  more 
of  the  principal  or  primary  colors  together  with  colorless 
light  sensations.  The  second  theory  holds  that  there  are 
just  as  many  elemental  colors  as  distinguishable  color  ex- 
periences. It  thus  enormously  enlarges  our  stock  of  con- 
scious elements,  for  there  is  little  doubt  that  we  distinguish 
more  than  thirty  thousand  colors :  one  hundred  and  fifty 
spectral  colors  including  the  red,  green,  blue  and  yellow 
already  named  and  many  such  '  hues '  as  orange  and 
green-blue ;  and  thousands  of  '  tints,'  such  as  pink,  lav- 
ender and  sky-blue,  and  shades,  such  as  wine-color  and 
navy-blue.  Upholders  of  the  many-color-element  theory 
admit  that  any  sensational  element  of  color  may  be  occa- 
sioned by  a  mixture  of  colored  lights  :  for  example,  orange 
by  a  mixture  of  red  and  yellow  lights ;  and  that  a  tint  is 
occasioned  by  a  mixture  of  colored  with  colorless  light,  for 
example,  pink  by  a  mixture  of  red  and  white  light:  but 
they  insist  that  the  color  as  experienced,  the  feeling  ex- 
cited by  the  mixture  of  lights,  is  simple  and  irreducible  : 
for  example,  that  pink  is  just  pink,  and  is  not  rightly 
describable  as  '  red  and  white.' 

Each  of  these  theories  has  the  merit  of  clearness  and 
simplicity.  The  first  regards  every  color  experience  as 
complex,  except  the  four  primary  color-qualities  of  red, 
green,  yellow  and  blue.  The  second  considers  every 
color  without  exception  as  elemental  experience.     In  the 


20  Visual  Sensations 

opinion  of  the  writer,  the  second  of  these  theories,  the 
hypothesis  of  many  color-elements,  is,  however,  untrue  to 
introspection,  because  it  treats  experiences  which  really  are 
analyzable  as  simple  :  for  example,  it  designates  the  hues 
of  yellow-green,  green-blue  and  blue-violet,  and  the  tints  of 
straw  color  and  sky-blue  as  elements  of  consciousness.  But 
introspection  directly  disproves  these  assertions :  yellow- 
green  looks  like  yellow  and  green ;  that  is,  it  is  introspec- 
tively  analyzable  into  yellow  and  green ;  sky-blue  looks 
like  blue  and  white,  and  in  the  same  way  other  tints  are 
reducible  to  simpler  experiences.  The  four-color  theory, 
on  the  other  hand,  seems  to  the  writer  to  be  in  accord  with 
careful  introspection ;  and  it  is  easy  to  explain  why  it  is 
not  universally  accepted.  In  the  first  place,  people  know 
something  of  the  mixture  of  pigments,  and  are  therefore 
tempted  to  mistake  a  composite  stimulus  for  a  complex 
experience  and  to  argue,  for  example,  that  the  obviously 
elemental  color  green  must  be  complex,  merely  because  it 
is  occasioned  by  a  mixture  of  blue  and  yellow  pigments. 
Other  observers,  in  the  second  place,  are  misled  by  the  fact 
that  many  complex  colors,  orange  and  violet  for  example, 
have  simple  instead  of  complex  names,  given  them  with 
the  practical  purpose  of  easily  designating  common  objects 
or  readily  obtainable  dye-stuffs. 

A  simple  device,  proposed  by  Pro- 
fessor G.  E.  Miiller,  will  bring  the  ele- 
mental nature  of  red,  yellow,  green 
and  blue  and  the  complexity  of  all  the 
other  colors  into  clearer  view.  If  we 
look  at  a  succession  of  colors,  in  the 
spectrum  order,  we  are  certain  to  rec- 
ognize that  it  is  made  up  of  four  shorter 

"^^ '- ^   series,  red  to  yellow,  yellow  to  green, 

f"'^-  ^-  green  to  blue  and  blue  to  red,  and  that 

the  colors  on  the  two  sides  of  each  end-term,  red,  yellow, 
green  or  blue,  differ  from  it  by  being  like  one  or  other  of 
two  more  of  these  end-terms.     For  example,  a  yellowish 


Yellow 

Green 

Olive 

0) 

c 

(0 

o 

Violet 

-0 

Sensational  Elements  of  Color  21 

orange  differs  from  a  yellow  by  being  more  red,  whereas  a 
yellowish  olive  differs  from  a  yellow  by  being  more  green. 
We  rightly,  therefore,  distinguish  between  the  elemental 
colors,  red,  yellow,  green  and  blue,  and  the  complex  colors, 
each  of  which  is  like  two  of  the  elements  or  '  turning-points ' 
of  the  color-square. 

We  must  now  very  carefully  notice  that  these  color-ele- 
ments are  never  actually  separate  in  their  occurrence  from 
other  sorts  of  experience.  One  can  distinguish  the  color 
from  a  whole  complex  mass  of  conscious  elements,  but  one 
can  never  separate  it,  or  seclude  it,  so  as  to  be  conscious,  at 
a  given  moment,  of  nothing  save  a  color.  A  color,  for 
instance,  has  always  some  sort  of  shape,  however  vague  or 
irregular,  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  color  which  is 
not,  to  some  degree,  spread  out  or  extended.  Further- 
more^ a  color  is  always  experienced  as  more  or  less  mixed 
with  colorless  light ;  and  we  therefore  never  see  an  abso- 
lutely pure  or,  as  it  has  been  called,  a  '  saturated '  blue  or 
red.  Most  of  our  colors,  indeed,  seem  to  us  decidedly 
'  unsaturated,'  that  is  to  say,  they  are  mixed  with  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  colorless  light. 

This  account  of  the  color  elements,  brief  as  it  is,  sum- 
marizes the  important  facts  of  color-experience,  from  the 
purely  introspective  point  of  view.  The  brevity  is  not  an 
accidental  feature  of  this  treatment  of  the  subject,  for  just 
because  an  element  is  simple  and  unanalyzable  it  cannot, 
as  we  have  seen,  be  talked  about  and  described.  A  com- 
plex phenomenon  may  be  described  by  analyzing  it :  for 
example,  I  may  tell  you  that  the  killing-stone  of  a  Tannese 
warrior  is  blue,  oblong  and  pointed,  smooth  and  sharp. 
But  I  can  never  describe  to  you  the  nature  of  blue  or  sharp  ; 
I  can  only,  as  it  were,  challenge  you  to  experience  what 
my  words  suggest.  If  you  are  blind  or  deaf  or  otherwise 
defective,  then  no  amount  of  description  will  make  you 
know  all  these  elements  of  consciousness. 

Our  purposes  as  scientific  psychologists  are,  however, 
unfulfilled.     We  have  still  before  us  the  tasks  of  classifiga- 


2  2  Visual  Sensations 

tion  and  explanation.  From  the  purely  psychological  or 
introspective  standpoint,  that  is,  without  reference  either  to 
physiological  or  to  physical  facts,  we  can  classify  the  color- 
elements,  as  a  group,  by  the  observation  that  they  seem  to 
us  like  each  other,  in  a  sense  in  which  no  one  of  them  is 
like  any  other  experience.  Green,  for  instance,  appears  to 
us  like  red  and  blue  and  yellow,  but  unlike  sour  and  hot. 
But  introspection  fails  to  distinguish  one  color  from 
another  according  to  any  principle ;  and  it  does  not  in  any 
way  explain  a  color-element.  Explanation,  therefore,  and 
further  classification  must  be  sought  among  the  physiologi- 
cal and  the  physical  phenomena,  which  condition  the  color- 
consciousness. 

It  will  be  convenient  to  begin  with  a  statement  of  the 
physical  stimuli  of  color-sensations,  for  there  is  general 
agreement  about  them.  Sensational  elements  of  color  are 
due  to  vibrations  of  the  ether,  an  '  incompressible  medium 
of  extreme  tenuity  and  elasticity '  which  is  supposed  to 
pervade  all  space  and  to  penetrate  within  the  molecules  of 
material  substances.  So  impalpable  a  material  has  never 
been  actually  observed,  but  its  existence  is  hypothetically 
assumed,  because  it  offers  the  only  plausible  explanation 
of  many  physical  phenomena.  Because  the  ether  pervades 
all  bodies,  it  must  be  thrown  into  motion  by  their  vibrating 
molecules,  and  its  periodic,  transverse  vibrations  are 
assumed  to  be  the  physical  stimuli  which  condition  the 
sensational  quahties  of  color.  Thus  the  colors  vary  accord- 
ing to  the  number  of  ether  vibrations  in  a  given  timer 
The  slowest  vibrations,  about  450  biUion  each  second,  con- 
dition the  retinal  process  which  accompanies  the  sensa- 
tional quality  '  red  ' ;  and  the  swiftest  vibrations,  about  780 
billion  each  second,  form  the  physical  stimulus  to  *  violet' 
The  following  table  includes  these  figures  for  five  colors, 
naming  also  the  length  of  the  ether-waves,  that  is,  the 
distance  from  wave  to  wave.  It  is  evident  that  the  longer 
the  waves,  the  smaller  the  number  which  can  be  propagated 
in  a  given  time  :  — 


Sensational  Elements  of  Color  23 


No.  Vibrations  Wave-lengths 

PER   SECOND 

Red  (i^)  450  billions  687 +  millionths  of  a  millimeter 

Yellow        {!))               526       "  588+  ''           "  " 

Green         \e)              589      "  526  "          «  " 

Blue            {F)              640       "  484  "           "  " 

Violet          (//)             790       "  392+  "           "  " 


It  should  be  borne  in  mind,  that  each  sensation-quality 
may  be  occasioned  by  ether  vibrations  varying,  in  rapidity 
and  in  length  of  wave,  within  a  relatively  wide  range.  For 
example  '  red '  accompanies  an  ether  vibration  varying  be- 
tween 450  and  475  billion  vibrations ;  and  780  billion  vi- 
brations, as  well  as  790,  might  be  the  physical  stimulus  to 
a  sensation  of  violet.  When  this  difference  of  vibration 
numbers  becomes  considerable,  there  results  a  complex, 
retinal  process  and  the  sensational  consciousness  of  what 
is  sometimes  known  as  a  '  hue.'  The  vibration  number,  for 
example,  of  the  hue  called  peacock  lies  between  the  589 
billion  of  the  green  light  and  the  640  billion  of  the  blue. 

We  must  now  consider  the  physiological  conditions  of  the 
color  consciousness,  and  we  shall  set  out  from  a  study  of 
the  structure  of  the  eye.  Roughly  speaking,  it  is  a  sort  of 
spherical  camera  obscnra ;  but  instead  of  a  plate  which 
moves  backward  and  forward  according  as  objects  are 
nearer  to  the  lens  or  farther  from  it,  the  eye  has  an  im- 
movable plate,  the  retina,  but  a  compound  lens  whose  re- 
fractiveness  (or  ability  to  focus  light-rays)  changes,  so  that 
a  clear  image  of  nearer  or  of  farther  objects  may  be  thrown 
upon  its  plate,  the  retina.  But  we  must  proceed  to  amplify 
this  preliminary  description.  The  eyeball  is  a  sphere 
moved  by  six  strong  muscles.  It  consists  of  three  membra- 
nous layers,  enclosing  a  series  of  transparent  substances  — 
the  aqueous  humor,  the  crystalline  lens  and  the  vitreous 
humor.  Each  of  these  is  a  lens  for  the  refraction  of  rays 
of  light,  and  together  they  form  a  double  convex  lens. 
The  outside  layer  of  the  eyeball  is  formed  in  part  of  an 


24 


Visual  Sensatio7is 


opaque,  whitish  membrane,  the  sclerotic  {Scl.\  and  in  part 
of  a  transparent  membrane,  the  cornea  {C),  in  shape  some- 
what like  a  watch-glass.  The  second  or  middle  membrane 
is  the  choroid  (C//.)  whose  inner  layer  is  colored  and  whose 
forward  portion  is^the  iris  (/),  that  is,  what  we  know  as 
the  '  blue '  or  '  brown '  of  the  eye.  Connected  with  this 
membrane  is  the  ciliary  muscle  {C.  P.\  a  circular  muscle 
whose  contraction  draws  back  the  choroid  membrane,  and 
so  enlarges  the  pupil  of  the  eye,  a  round  opening  in  the 


e.c.  .c 


Fig.  2.— Diagrammatic  outline  of  a  horizontal  section  of  the  eye,  to  illustrate  the 

relations  of  the  various  parts. 

iris.  The  third  or  inner  membrane,  the  retina  {R.),  encloses 
only  about  three-fourths  of  the  eyeball,  terminating  in.  the 
ciliary  muscle.  The  retina  is  the  part  of  the  eye  most  sig- 
nificant in  vision,  lying  back  of  the  lenses  and  correspond- 
ing, as  we  have  seen,  to  the  sensitive  plate  of  a  camera.  It 
is  composed,  throughout  most  of  its  extent,  of  ten  layers, 
membranous,  cellular  and  fibrous.  Of  these,  the  most  im- 
portant are  the  layer  (9)  of  the  rods  and  cones,  the  only 
part  of  the  eye  on  which  the  Hght  can  act  directly,  and  the 


The  Eye 


25 


layer  (2)  formed  by  nerve  fibres  ramifying  in  all  directions 
from  the  optic  nerve  {O.  N.  in  Figure  2).  This  nerve,  which 
pierces  the  sclerotic  and 
choroid  membranes  from 
the  rear,  enters  the  retina 
at  a  spot  devoid  of  other 
retinal  elements,  and  this 
spot,  as  experiments 
show,^  is  unaffected  by 
the  light.  Outward  from 
this  '  blind  spot,'  in  the 
centre  of  a  colored  yellow 
spot  (the  macula  littea), 
there  is  a  little  pit  or  de- 
pression {\.\\Q.  fovea,  f.  c.) 
in  which  the  retina  has 
thinned  so  that  light  more 
directly  affects  the  cones, 
which  here  appear  in  un- 
usual numbers  with  few  or 
no  rods  among  them.  The 
eye  is,  in  fact,  a  compli- 
cated mechanism  con- 
structed, apparently,  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  focuss- 
ing light-waves  on  its 
retina.  The  rays  of 
light  from  an  object 
are  refracted  by  the 
lenses  of  the  eye,  pierce 
through  the  inner  layers 
of  the  retina,  and  ex- 
cite the  rod  and  cone 
layer.  The  activity  of 
rods   and  cones  stimulates  the  optic  nerve,  and  the  optic 


Fig.  3.  —  A  section  through  the  retina  from 
its  anterior  or  inner  surface,  i,  in  contact 
with  the  hyaloid  membrane,  to  its  outer. 
10,  in  contact  with  the  choroid,  i,  internal 
limiting  membrane;  2,  nerve-fibre  layer; 
3,  nerve-cell  layer;  4,  inner  molecular 
layer;  5,  inner  granular  layer ;  6,  outer  mo- 
lecular layer;  7,  outer  granular  layer;  8, 
external  limiting  membrane ;  9,  rod  and 
cone  layer ;   10,  pigment-cell  layer. 


^  For  exjieriments,  of.  Sanford,  "  Experimental  Psychology,"  113  and  114. 


26  Vistial  Sensations 

nerve,  in  turn,  transmits  this  excitation  to  the  visual  area, 
that  is,  the  occipital  lobes  of  the  brain. 

There  is  every  reason  to  adopt  this  conclusion,  that  retinal 
excitation  conditions  the  consciousness  of  colors.  It  is 
furthermore  probable  that  the  retinal  processes  which  oc- 
casion sensations  of  color,  have  to  do  with  the  cones  of  the 
retina,  not  with  the  rods.  The  reasons  for  this  hypothesis, 
which  has  been  recently  urged  by  Mrs.  Christine  Ladd 
Franklin  and  by  Professor  J.  von  Kries,^  are  the  following : 
in  the  first  place,  the  stimulation  of  the  outer  circumference, 
or  periphery,  of  the  retina,  where  no  retinal  cones  are  found, 
excites  a  sensation  not  of  color,  but  of  gray.  For  example, 
if  I  steadily  look  straight  before  me  and  somebody  else 
moves  a  scarlet  pencil  from  the  right,  so  that  the  image  of 
it  at  first  falls  on  the  outer  edges  of  my  retina,  the  pencil 
will  seem  gray  or  black  until  it  is  almost  directly  in  front 
of  my  eye.  In  the  second  place,  the  purest  color-sensa- 
tions follow  upon  the  stimulation  of  the  fovea  of  the  retina, 
the  depression  which  contains  only  cones  or,  at  most,  few 
rods. 

Up  to  this  point,  however,  we  have  merely  assigned  the 
physiological  conditions  of  the  color-consciousness  in  gen- 
eral. But  we  are  in  search  of  a  physiological  explanation 
of  each  of  the  color-elements  or,  at  least,  of  the  most  im- 
portant color-elements.  And  at  this  point,  it  must  frankly 
be  confessed,  physiology  has  only  a  series  of  guesses  or 
hypotheses  to  offer.  Nothing  whatever  is  positively  known 
of  the  nature  of  retinal  activity;  whether,  for  example,  it 
is  chemical  or  electrical ;  and  nothing  is  certainly  known 
of  the  special  retinal  processes  which  occasion  the  different 
colors.  We  shall,  however,  briefly  mention  two  theories 
of  the  retinal  conditions  of  sensations  of  color. 

The  first  of  these  is  that  of  Professor  Ewald  Hering.  He 
supposes  that  there  are  in  the  retina  three  chemical  sub- 
stances, each  of  which  is  capable  of  two  opposed  processes, 

1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.,  I. 


Retinal  Processes  27 

decomposition  and  recomposition,  as  they  may  be  called. 
The  decomposition,  or  katabolic  process,  of  one  of  the 
substances  occasions,  Hering  supposes,  the  sensational 
consciousness  of  red ;  and  the  recomposition  of  the  same 
substance  excites  the  sensational  quality  green.  In  the 
same  way,  the  two  processes  of  a  second  retinal  substance 
excite  sensations  of  yellow  and  of  blue.  The  opposed  pro- 
cesses of  the  third  substance  occasion  sensations  of  white 
and  of  black. 

The  second  theory  is  that  of  Mrs.  Franklin,  who  sup- 
poses that  different  sensational  elements  of  color  are  ex- 
cited by  the  different  ways  in  which  the  molecules,  of  a 
photo-chemical  substance  in  the  retinal  cones,  are  decom- 
posed. In  more  detail,  the  theory  supposes  that  each  com- 
pletely developed  color-molecule  consists  of  four  parts,  of 
which  each  is  fitted  to  vibrate  to  one  only  of  the  color 
stimuli,  blue,  yellow,  red  and  green  light. 

Neither  of  these  theories  can  profitably  be  considered 
until  we  have  studied  sensations  of  colorless  light  and 
their  retinal  condition,  for  both  theories  relate  the  retinal 
stimulus  of  color-elements  to  the  retinal  stimulus  of  color- 
less light  elements.^  Both  theories  are  purely  hypothetical, 
but,  for  reasons  which  will  later  appear,  the  Franklin  theory 
is  to  be  preferred. 2  We  return  therefore  to  the  general 
conclusion  already  reached :  The  different  sensational  ele- 
ments of  color  are  physiologically  conditioned  by  retinal 
processes,  probably  connected  with  the  cones  of  the  retina. 

The  retinal  processes  are  not,  of  course,  the  immediate 
physiological  conditions  of  sensational  elements  of  color. 
But  the  retinal  processes,  excite  the  optic  nerve,  and  the 
optic  nerve  conveys  these  excitations  to  the  so-called 
visual  area,  namely,  the  occipital  lobes  of  the  brain.^  The 
immediate  physiological  condition  of  color-sensations  is 
the  excitation  of   cells  in  this  part  of  the   brain.     There 

1  Cf.  page  36. 

2  Cf.  page  41,  and  Appendix,  Section  III.,  I. 
s  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  I.,  1. 


28  Visual  Sensations 

are  several  proofs  of  this  :  in  the  first  place,  a  person  may- 
be conscious,  while  imprisoned  in  a  darkened  room,  of 
most  vividly  colored  sunsets  or  flowers  or  costumes.  In 
this  case,  it  is  evident  that  the  retina  is  unaffected  by  the 
ether-waves,  so  that  retinal  processes  cannot  be  essential 
to  sensations  of  color.  This  conclusion  has  been  verified 
also  by  experiment.  When  the  optic  nerve  is  severed, 
however  perfect  the  eyeball  and  the  retina,  no  stimulus 
can  bring  about  visual  sensations.  Experiment  has  also 
made  it  highly  probable  that  excitation  of  the  optic  nerve 
is  not  an  essential  condition  of  visual  sensations,  for 
physiologists  have  established  the  fact  that  the  different 
nerve-fibres,  optic,  auditory  and  so  on,  are  exactly  alike ; 
evidently,  therefore,  the  different  sensations  of  color,  sound 
and  the  like  cannot  be  conditioned  by  excitation  of  these 
undistinguished  fibres. 

We  return,  therefore,  to  the  conclusion  that  excitation  of 
brain-cells,  in  the  occipital  lobes,  is  the  immediate  physio- 
logical condition  of  sensations  of  color.  But  we  must 
remark  that  the  brain-cells  are  excited  originally,  by 
stimulations  conveyed  by  the  optic  nerve  from  the  retina. 
We  should  never  have  color-sensations,  however  perfect 
our  occipital  brain-lobes,  if  our  retinae  had  never  been 
stimulated  by  ether-waves.  But  when  the  occipital  lobes 
have  been  thus  excited  from  without,  they  may  later  be 
excited,  without  external  stimulus,  by  a  radiation  of  energy 
from  other  brain-centres.^ 


II.    Sensational  Elements  of  Colorless  Light 

From  the  study  of  the  elemental  qualities  of  color,  we 
must  turn  to  the  consideration  of  the  sensational  elements 
of  colorless  light.  It  is  at  once  cvidei>t  that  these  are 
unanalyzable  experiences,  distinct  from  any  one  of  the 
sensational  color-qualities.      But  again  it  is  very  difficult 

— ^  1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  I.,  I. 


Sensational  Elements  of  Colorless  Light       29 

to  assure  ourselves,  by  introspection,  how  many  kinds 
there  are  of  elemental  colorless  light  experiences.  The 
writer  of  this  book  inclines  to  the  opinion  that  there  are 
three  such  elemental  qualities,  white,  black  and  gray,  and 
that  only  one  intensity  belongs  with  white,  as  with  black, 
whereas  numberless  intensities  are  combined  with  the 
gray.^  On  this  view,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an  intenser 
or  a  less  intense  white,  or  an  intenser  or  a  less  intense 
black,  whereas  there  may  be  any  number  of  brighter  or 
duller  grays  than  any  given  gray ;  and  a  very  light  gray 
resembles  a  dark  gray  but  does  not  resemble  a  white  in 
quality,  whereas  it  is  more  like  the  white  than  like  the 
dark  gray  in  intensity. 

This  conclusion  must  be  distinguished  from  four  other 
theories  of  colorless  light  consciousness.  One  of  these 
teaches  that  there  are  as  many  elemental  qualities  of  color- 
less light  as  there  are  distinguishable  kinds  of  colorless 
light,  and  that,  just  as  red  is  a  different  sensational  element 
from  yellow,  so  one  gray  is  distinct,  as  a  sensation-quality, 
not  only  from  white  and  black,  but  from  every  other  dis- 
tinguishable gray.  Another  theory  supposes  that  there 
are  two  colorless  light  sensations,  white  and  black,  and 
that  gray  is  a  complex  color-experience,  analyzable  into 
white  and  black.  According  to  a  third  theory,  black  is  a 
sensational  element  which  is  no  more  closely  related  to 
white  and  gray  than  to  red  or  yellow  or  green.  The  last 
of  these  theories  teaches  that  there  is  but  one  quahty  of 
colorless  light,  namely  gray,  and  that  this  is  combined 
Vvrith  numberless  intensities  or  degrees  of  brightness.  Such 
a  hypothesis  means  nothing  less  than  this,  that  the  term, 
'  gray  '  covers  the  whole  series  of  visual  experiences  from 
white  through  gray  to  black  ;  so  that  white  is  simply  '  very 
light  gray '  and  black  '  very  dark  gray.' 

It  must  be  admitted  that  it  is  hard  to  choose  between 
these  five  views.     Yet  on  the  whole,  introspection  seems 

1  Cf.  p.  67. 


2)0  Visual  Sensations 

to  decide  against  the  four  last  outlined.  The  theory  of 
an  indefinite  number  of  colorless  light  elements  is  contra- 
dicted by  the  fact  that  the  different  grays  really  seem  Hke 
each  other,  instead  of  being  distinct  as  green  is  from  blue 
or  yellow  from  red.  The  theory  of  two  colorless  hght 
sensations,  white  and  black,  is  opposed  by  the  fact  that 
gray  does  not  really  look  like  either  white  or  black.  Of 
course,  this  is  exactly  the  point  at  issue,  and  one  may  easily 
be  mistaken  in  introspection.  Nevertheless,  the  writer 
of  this  book  inchnes  to  the  view,  (i)  that  one  calls  gray  like 
black  and  white,  merely  because  one  knows  by  experience 
that  the  mixture  of  white  and  black  lights  gives  gray,  and 
(2)  that  the  consciousness  of  gray  is  really  distinct  from 
the  sensational  elements,  —  white  and  black,  and  not  redu- 
cible to  them.  The  third  theory,  that  black  is  as  different 
from  white  and  gray  as  from  red,  yellow,  green  and  blue, 
also  seems  to  the  writer  to  contradict  plain  introspection. 

For  the  same  general  reason,  one  may  reject  the  last  of 
these  theories  —  that  of  a  single  colorless  light  impression, 
gray  —  for  white  and  black  do  seem  distinct  from  gray. 
Against  this  result  of  introspection,  the  upholders  of  the 
one-element  theory  urge  the  following  fact,  that  it  is  pos- 
sible, at  any  time,  to  make  either  a  supposed  *  white '  or  a 
supposed  '  black '  look  gray  by  contrasting  it  with  a  whiter 
white  or  a  blacker  black  :  for  example,  one  names  the  sheet 
on  which  one  is  writing  *  white  '  until  the  sun  falls  upon 
it,  when  immediately  it  appears  no  longer  white  but 
very  light  gray ;  and  a  surface  of  ebonized  wood  which 
seemed  black  at  first,  grows  obviously  gray  if  placed 
against  a  black  velvet  background.^  Now  there  is  no 
question  that  this  is  an  accurate  description  of  the  facts ; 
but  these  facts  certainly  do  not  prove  that  the  black  or 
white  surface,  which  grows  to  look  gray  by  contrast  with 
another  hue,  looked  gray  —  not  white  or  black  —  in  the 
first  place.    On  the  contrary,  we  must  suppose  that  the  very 

^  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  140  a. 


Sensational  Elements  of  Colorless  Light      31 


same  object,  the  white  paper  or  the  ebonized  wood,  excites 
different  physiological  processes,  and  thus  different  con- 
scious states,  under  different  circumstances.^  We  come 
back,  therefore,  after  study  of  the  four  theories, — the  theory 
of  innumerable  colorless  light  qualities,  the  theory  of  two 
colorless  light  qualities,  white  and  black,  the  hypothesis 
that  black  does  not  belong  at  all  to  the  white-gray  series, 
and  finally,  the  theory  of  a  single  colorless  light  quality, 
—  to  our  original  conclusion  that  there  are  three  qualities, 
white,  gray  and  black,  and  that  many  intensities  may  be 
combined  with  the  gray. 

It  will  be  well,  before  going  on  to  study  the  conditions 
of  the  colorless  light  consciousness,  to  summarize  the  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  visual  sensation  and  visual  fusion  i^  not 
merely  the  elemental  colors  and 
the  colorless  light  sensations,  but 
the  simplest  fusions,  as  we  may 
call  them,  of  elemental  colors 
with  each  other,  and  with  white, 
gray  and  black.  Visual  sensa- 
tions and  fusions  are  most  simply 
represented  by  a  color  pyramid, 
which,  as  Titchener  reminds  us,'^ 
is  a  purely  psychological  (not 
physical  or  physiological)  con- 
struction. The  base  represents 
the  most  saturated  colors  — 
those  least  mixed  with  white, 
gray  or  black.  Its  rectangu- 
lar form  suggests  the  fact  that  the  red,  yellow,  green 
and  blue  are,  as  has  been  shown,  turning-points  in 
the  color  series.  The  dotted  vertical,  WB,  represents  the 
white  —  gray  —  black.  Toward  white,  the  surface  of  the 
pyramid   represents   the  pale  greens,  straw-yellows,  sky- 

1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III,  p.  475. 

2  Cf.  Ch.  XIII,  p.  158.* 

3  Experimental  Psychology,  Qualitative,  Instructor's  Manual,  p.  5. 


32  Visual  Sensations 

blues  and  pinks ;  toward  black,  the  indigo-blues,  the 
browns,  the  reds  and  the  greens  are  represented.  "  All 
these  tones,"  to  quote  Titchener  again,  "are  the  most  satu- 
rated possible,  the  most  coloured  colours  of  their  kind,  but 
if  we  peel  the  figure  (like  an  onion),  leaving  the  black  and 
white  poles  untouched,  we  get  precisely  what  we  had 
before,  save  that  all  the  colour  tones  are  less  saturated,  lie 
so  much  nearer  to  tlie  neutral  tones."  All  told  —  color-ele- 
ments, colorless  light  elements,  color-fusions,  such  as 
olive  and  peacock,  tints,  such  as  pink  and  sky-blue,  and 
shades,  such  as  indigo  —  the  color-pyramid  represents  more 
than  30,000  color-elements  and  fusions. 

From  this  introspective  study,  we  shall  go  on  as  before 
to  consider  the  physical  and  the  physiological  conditions 
of  the  consciousness  of  colorless  light.  Each  sensation- 
quality  of  color,  as  has  been  stated,  is  physically  condi- 
tioned by  ether-waves  of  a  single  rate  of  vibration.  There 
is  no  one  physical  stimulus  to  the  consciousness  of  color- 
less light,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  three  methods  of  bring- 
ing it  about.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  occasioned  by  an 
equal  mixture  of  ether-waves  of  all  lengths,  and  thus  of 
all  vibration  rates.  This  is  shown,  experimentally,  in  many 
ways.  The  spectral  colors,  if  united  upon  one  spot,  give 
a  gray  surface ;  and  a  disk  containing  nearly  equal  sectors 
of  each  of  the  colors,  blue,  green,  red  and  yellow  will 
appear  gray  if  so  swiftly  rotated  that  all  four  stimulate 
the  same  part  of  the  retina  at  one  time.^  The  sensation  of 
colorless  light  may  also  be  excited  by  a  mixture  of  two 
colored  lights,  which  are  then  called  complementary  color- 
stimuli.  Thus,  blue  and  yellow  light,  or  purple  and  green, 
or  red  and  bluish  green,  combined  in  equal  quantities,  ex- 
cite the  sensation  of  colorless  light.^  And  finally,  there  are 
certain  cases  in  which  sensations  of  colorless  light  are 
obtained,  without  any  combination  of  color  lights,  through 
one  color-stimulus  only.      There  are  four  important  cases 

^  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  148  c.  and  149  ;    Titchener,  "  Experimental 
Psychology,"  Students'  Manual,  Qualitative,  §  8. 


Sensational  Etemcnis  of  Colorless  Light      33 

in  which  colored  objects  seem  colorless,  and  we  must  care- 
fully consider  them. 

In  the  first  place,  the  excitation  by  any  color-stimulus 
of  very  small  extents  of  the  retina,  excites  a  colorless  light 
sensation.  This  is  shown  by  the  every-day  observation  that 
distant  objects  lose  their  color.  The  second  case  is  that 
of  color-stimulation  in  faint  light.  As  the  proverb  has  it, 
"in  the  night  all  cats  are  gray."  All  objects  lose  their 
color  when  seen  in  faint  light.  The  third  case  is  that  in 
which  the  peripheral  parts  of  the  retina,  that  is,  the  parts 
farthest  from  its  centre,  are  stimulated.  If  a  small  colored 
object  (like  a  half-inch  square  of  paper  glued  to  the  end 
of  a  long  strip  of  gray  card)  be  brought  toward  the  field 
of  vision  from  either  side,  while  one  eye  is  closed  and  the 
other  firmly  fixated  on  something  directly  in  front  of  the 
face,  it  will  be  found  that  the  colored  square  at  first  seems 
gray,  and  that  it  is  seen  in  its  true  color,  only  as  it  ap- 
proaches the  centre  of  the  eye.  Only  careful  experiment, 
with  the  use  of  a  perimeter,  may  '  map  out '  the  exact 
retinal  fields  for  different  colors,  but  every  one  may  prove 
to  himself  the  color-blindness  of  the  outer  rims  of  the 
retina ;  and  this  means  that  here  any  color-stimulus  is 
accompanied  by  a  sensation,  not  of  color,  but  of  gray.^ 

Fourth,  and  finally,  we  have  the  cases  of  actual  color- 
blindness. These  we  shall  consider  in  more  detail,  since 
the  experience  is  not  so  common  as  the  other  three.  There 
u.re  probably,  roughly  speaking,  five  types  of  color-blind 
people :  four  classes  of  the  partially  color-blind,  to  whom 
red,  green,  blue  or  yellow  seems  gray,  and  the  totally 
color-blind,  to  whom  all  colors  seem  gray.  Dalton,  for 
example,  one  of  the  first  to  describe  the  phenomena  of 
color-blindness,  could  hardly  distinguish  his  red  academic 
gown  from  the  grass  on  which  he  had  thrown  it.  The 
first  two  forms  of  color-blindness  are  much  the  most 
common,   and   only    rare    cases  of  the   other  types   have 

1  For  experiments,  cf.  San  ford,  137,  a  ;  Titchener,  §  9. 
D 


34      Sensational  Elements  of  Colorless  Light 

been  found/  Color-blindness  is  tested,  not,  of  course,  by 
trying  to  discover  whether  names  of  colors  are  correctly 
used,  but  by  finding  out  whether,  from  a  mass  of  differently 
colored  objects,  the  person  who  is  being  tested  can  distin- 
guish all  the  colors.  In  actual  tests,  for  instance,  made 
by  the  Holmgren  method,  a  pile  of  worsted  skeins  in  about 
one  hundred  different  shades  is  placed  before  the  subject, 
who  is  directed  to  put  together  different  shades  of  one 
color.  Under  these  circumstances,  the  man  who  is  red- 
blind  heaps  together  with  the  grays  all  reds  which  are  not 
yellowish,  while  he  places  all  greens  which  are  not  bluish 
with  the  yellows ;  and  the  green-blind  person  confuses 
greens  with  grays,  and  reds  with  yellows,  in  a  similar  way.^ 
All  these  are  cases,  as  has  been  so  often  repeated, 
in  which  the  physical  condition  of  the  consciousness  of 
colorless  light,  is  any  one  color-stimulus,  instead  of  a  com- 
bination of  stimuli.  In  other  words,  this,  like  the  contrast 
experience,^  is  a  fact  of  consciousness  which  cannot  be  ex- 
plained by  any  merely  physical  stimulus.  For  two  distinct 
kinds  of  physical  phenomena,  the  combination  of  color- 
stimuli  and  the  single  stimulus,  are  followed  by  one  and 
the  same  conscious  phenomenon,  the  sensation  of  colorless 
light ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  one  physical  phenomenon, 
a  single  color-stimulus,  conditions  now  a  sensation  of  color, 
and  now  a  sensation  of  colorless  light. 

To  account  for  the  peculiarities  and  to  find  what  we  are 
seeking,  an  explanation  of  the  colorless  light  sensation,  we 
must,  therefore,  study  no  longer  its  physical,  but  its  physi- 
ological conditions.  Such  a  study  must  be  purely  hypo- 
thetical. Actual  observation  of  the  histological  structure 
or  of  the  chemical  constitution  of  the  retina  is,  as  we  have 
seen,  almost  utterly  wanting.  Accordingly,  there  has  been 
wide  scope  for  theoretical  constructions,  and  a  considera- 


1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.,  II.  -  For  experiments,  of.  Sanford,  135. 

2  Cf.  p.  30,  and  Appendix,  Section  III.,  II. 


The  Yo2ing-Hclmholtz   Theory  35 

tion  of  some  of  these-will  be  of  use  to  us.  It  will  of  neces- 
sity include  a  reference  to  the  theories,  already  considered, 
of  color-qualities  :  — 

Chronologically  first  is  the  Young-Helmholtz  theory, 
independently  formulated  by  an  Englishman,  Thom:is 
Young,  and  by  the  great  German  scientist,  Hermann  \'on 
Helmholtz.  So  far  as  it  relates  to  sensational  elements  of 
color,  this  theory  is  very  general,  simply  holding  that  there 
are  three  retinal  elements  or  processes  whose  excitation 
respectively  conditions  three  color-sensations,  red,  green 
and  violet.  The  important  part  of  the  theory  is  its  ex- 
planation of  sensations  of  colorless  light  as  due  simply  to 
the  combination  in  equal  degrees  of  these  three  color-pro- 
cesses. Evidently  this  is  a  reasonable  explanation  of  the 
cases  in  which  a  mixture  of  ether-waves  of  all  lengths  con- 
ditions the  consciousness  of  colorless  light.  The  Young- 
Helmholtz  theory  also  explains,  in  the  following  manner, 
the  excitation  of  colorless  light  sensations  through  the 
mixture  of  only  two  color-stimuli :  ether  vibrations  of  a 
given  rate  tend  to  set  up  in  the  retina  not  only  the  pro- 
cesses specifically  corresponding  with  them,  but  also  those 
which  correspond  with  proximate  vibration  numbers.  So 
blue  Hght  excites  the  retinal  process  which  conditions  the 
sensation-quality  green,  as  well  as  that  which  accompanies 
blue ;  and  yellow  light  stimulates  the  processes  for  red  as 
well  as  for  yellow.  Therefore  the  combination  of  two 
complementary  color-stimuli  produces  the  same  effect, 
physiologically,  as  the  combination  of  all  the  color-stimuli. 
The  specific  physical  condition  of  the  sensation-qualities 
of  colorless  light  is  thus  such  a  mixture  of  ether-waves  as 
will  stimulate  simultaneously  and  nearly  equally  all  physi- 
ological color-processes. 

It  may  be  questioned  whether  the  explanation  just  given 
of  the  excitation  of  colorless  light,  through  the  mixture  of 
two  complementary  color-stimuli,  is  in  full  agreement  with 
the  facts.  There  is  reason,  on  the  other  hand,  to  think 
that  the  third  process  inferred  by  the  theory  would  be  in- 


36        Theories  of  Color  and  Colorless  LigJit 

sufficiently  excited.  We  need  not,  however,  discuss  this 
point,  for  however  adequate  its  explanation  of  colorless 
light  sensations  through  combination  of  stimuli,  the 
Young-Helmholtz  theory  must  be  rejected  on  another 
ground:  it  fails  utterly  to  account  for  the  four  cases  in 
which  a  sensation  of  colorless  light  follows  upon  a  single 
color-stimulus.  It  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  three 
color-processes  are  aroused  when  a  single  color-stimulus 
falls  on  the  outer  rim,  or  on  a  small  part  of  the  retina, 
or  when  the  color-stimulus  is  very  faint.  And,  finally,  the 
theory  cannot  possibly  be  reconciled  with  the  fact  of  color- 
blindness. For  in  color-blindness  one,  at  least,  of  the 
normal  retinal  color-processes  is  wanting,  and  there  can 
therefore  be  no  combination  of  three  retinal  processes. 

A  far  more  satisfactory  explanation  is  that  of  Hering. 
He  holds,  as  we  have  seen,  that  a  sensational  quality  of 
color  is  physiologically  due  to  the  activity  of  one  of  two 
antagonistic  processes  of  some  retinal  glibstance.  Of  these 
retinal  substances,  he  believes  that  there  are  three,  each  of 
them  capable  of  an  anabolic,  that  is,  assimilative  or  '  build- 
ing up  '  process  ;  and  of  a  katabolic,  that  is,  destructive  or 
'  tearing  down '  process.  To  these  six  processes  corre- 
spond the  sensations  of  red,  yellow,  blue,  green,  white  and 
black,  whose  exact  relations  may  be  seen  by  the  following 
summary :  — 


Substances 

Processes 

Sensations  of 

'  Anabolic 

Green 

Red-green 

Katabolic 

Red 

'  Anabolic 

Blue 

Yellow-blue 

Katabolic 

Yellow 

* 

'  Anabolic 

Black 

White-black' 

Katabolic 

White 

In  explanation  of  this  summary,  it  must  be  stated  explic- 
itly that   Hering's  expressions   'red-green,'    'blue-yellow,' 


The  -Hering  Theory  37 

and  '  white-black,'  do  not  refer  to  the  appearance  of  the 
retinal  substances.  Indeed,  these  substances  have  never 
been  actually  observed,  for  the  theory  is  purely  hypotheti- 
cal. By  *  white-black  substance,'  therefore,  Hering  merely 
means  '  an  inferred  retinal  substance  whose  opposite  ac- 
tivities result  in  the  sensations  of  white  and  black.'  It 
follows  that  the  katabolic  process  of  the  white-black  sub- 
stance excites  sensations  of  white;  the  anabolic  process 
excites  sensations  of  black  ;  an  equilibrium  between  the  two 
processes  occasions  a  sensation  of  middle  gray  ;  and  an 
unequal  combination  of  the  two  processes  excites  sensa- 
sations  of  light  or  dark  gray.  Hering  teaches,  further- 
more, that  the  white-black  substance  is  excited  by  every 
light-stimulus  and  that  it  is  more  widely  spread  than  the 
color-substances  over  the  surface  of  the  retina.  The  sen- 
sation of  colorless  light  is,  therefore,  excited  either  through 
the  activity  of  the  '  white-black '  retinal  substance,  when 
antagonistic  color-processes  have  destroyed  each  other  by 
simultaneous  action;  or  through  the  activity  of  the  white- 
black  substance  in  parts  of  the  retina  where  the  red-green 
and  blue-yellow  substances  are  wanting. ^ 

This  will  become  clearer  if  we  consider,  one  by  one,  all 
the  ways  in  which  the  sensation  of  colorless  light  can  Idc 
excited.  Hering  first  explains  the  excitation  of  colorless 
light  consciousness  through  combination  of  two  color- 
stimuli.  When,  for  example,  blue  and  yellow  light  fall 
simultaneously  on  the  retina,  the  blue  tends  to  set  the 
blue-yellow  substance  into  anabolic  activity,  whereas  the 
yellow  tends  equally  to  stimulate  the  katabolic  activity  of 
the  blue-yellow  substance.  These  opposite  processes  can- 
cel each  other ;  and  so  equilibrium  is  maintained  and  the 
blue-yellow  substance,  equally  stimulated  in  two  oppo- 
site directions,  remains  inactive,  whereas  the  white-black 
process,  as  has  been  said,  is  always  active.  It  follows  that 
in  the  inactivity  of  the  blue-yellow  substance  only  sensa- 

^"Zur  Lehre  vom  Lichtsinne,"  E.  Hering,  Vienna,  1878,  §  28,  p.  81. 


38        Theories  of  Coloi'-  and  Colorless  Light 

tions  of  colorless  light  result ;  and  the  combination  of  red 
and  green  lights  must  have  a  similar  effect.  It  is  easy  to 
explain,  after  the  same  fashion,  the  excitation  of  colorless 
light  sensations  through  the  combination  of  ether-waves 
of  all  lengths,  for  this  would  amount  to  the  combination 
of  two  pairs  of  complementary  color-stimuli,  red,  green, 
blue  and  yellow  lights,  and  would  result  in  two  balanced 
processes.  Both  color-substances  would  thus  remain  in- 
active, and  the  constantly  active  processes  of  the  white- 
black  substance  would,  as  before,  excite  the  sensational 
experience  of  colorless  light. 

There  remain  those  cases,  on  which  the  Helmholtz  theory 
was  wrecked,  of  the  consciousness  of  colorless  light  through 
one  color-stimulus  only.  The  superiority  of  the  Hering 
theory  appears  most  strongly  at  just  this  point.  His  ex- 
planations are  based  on  the  assumptions,  already  stated, 
that  the  white-black  substance  is  found  in  all  parts  of  the 
retina  and  that  every  light-stimulus,  colorless  or  colored, 
excites  it.  In  accordance  then  with  his  hypothesis,  Hering 
supposes  (i)  that  sensations  of  colorless  Hght  arise  when 
small  extents  of  the  retina  are  excited  by  a  single  color- 
stimulus,  because  the  stimulation  of  such  small  amounts  of 
the  red-green  or  blue-yellow  substance  is  not  sufficient  to 
rouse  it  to  activity,  whereas  the  ever  active  white-black 
substance  is  excited  by  even  a  color-stimulus;  (2)  that  the 
excitations  in  faint  light  are  not  intense  enough  to  affect 
a  color-substance,  but  do  excite  the  sensitive  white-black 
substance;  (3)  that  stimulation  of  the  retinal  periphery  by 
color-stimuli  excites  only  sensations  of  colorless  light  because 
only  the  white-black  substance  is  found  on  the  periphery 
of  the  retina.  Hering  teaches  finally  (4)  that  a  color-stimu- 
lus excites  a  sensation  of  colorless  light,  when  the  subject 
is  color-blind,  because  the  retina  of  a  color-blind  person  is 
lacking  in  one  or  both  color-substances,  so  that  the  color- 
stimulus  affects  only  the  easily  excited  white-black  sub- 
stance. 

Hering  has  certainly,  therefore,  furnished  a   plausible 


Franklin  and   Von  Krics   Theories 


39 


explanation  for  sensations  of  colorless  light,  whether  con- 
ditioned by  single  stimulus  or  by  a  combination.  But 
though  his  theory  is  far  more  satisfactory  than  that  of 
Helmholtz,  there  are  certain  difficulties  in  the  way  of  it. 
We  have  named  the  most  general  of  these  difficulties,  the 
fact  that  the  theory  is  purely  hypothetical  and  that  no 
histological  study  of  the  eye  has  discovered  any  trace  of 
one  of  these  retinal  substances.  In  the  second  place,  the 
conception  of  consciousness  as  conditioned  by  an  assimila- 
tive bodily  process  directly  runs  athwart  physiological 
analogy.  For  the  assimilative  bodily  processes,  by  which 
nerve-cells  take  up  into  themselves  materials,  chiefly  oxy- 
gen, from  the  outside  world,  are  known  to  be  processes 
which  are  unaccompanied  by  consciousness.  The  hours 
of  dreamless  sleep,  for  example,  are  a  period  of  assimila- 
tion, but  also  of  unconsciousness.  The  assumption  of 
Hering  that  black,  green  and  blue  are  conditioned  by 
assimilative  bodily  processes  loses  sight  of  the  probability 
that  not  assimilation,  the  formation  of  more  complex  com- 
pounds, but  dissimilation,  the  decomposition  of  chemical 
compounds  and  consequent  liberation  of  energy,  is  the 
physiological  concomitant  of  consciousness. 

There  are  other  objections  to  the  Hering  theory,  too 
technical  to  be  considered  in  this  chapter.^  We  shall 
proceed  at  once  to  outline  two  other  theories  concernine: 
the  physiological  conditions  of  colorless  light  sensations. 
These  theories,  that  of  C.  L.  Franklin  and  of  von  Kries, 
have  been  referred  to  already  in  the  description  of  color- 
theories.  It  will  be  remembered  that  they  explain  the 
sensational  elements  of  color  —  red,  yellow,  green  and  the 
others  —  as  due  to  the  excitation,  singly  or  in  unequal  com- 
bination, of  processes  connected  with  the  retinal  cones. 
The  two  theories  agree,  also,  in  the  teaching  that  colorless 
light  impressions  result,  first,  when  the  retinal  cones  are 
excited   by  an   equal  combination  of  two  or  more  color- 

^  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III, 


40         Theories  of  Color  and  Colorless  Light 

stimuli,  and  second,  when  the  rods  of  the  retina  are  excited 
by  a  single  color-stimulus.  The  second  part  of  this  teach- 
ing is  the  characteristic  feature  of  it,  and  strong  argu- 
ments may  be  urged  in  its  favor.  In  the  first  place,  it 
furnishes  a  satisfactory  account  of  facts  which  the  Young- 
Helmholtz  theory  failed  to  explain,  the  different  cases, 
namely,  of  colorless  light  consciousness,  through  a  single 
color-stimulus.  These,  as  will  be  remembered,  are  four : 
faint  light  consciousness,  peripheral  stimulation,  excitation 
of  small  extents  of  the  retina  and  color-blindness.  C.  L. 
Franklin  and  von  Kries  suppose  in  the  first  case  that  the 
rod-processes  are  excitable  by  intensities  fainter  than  those 
required  to  excite  the  cones ;  in  the  second  case,  they  refer 
to  the  established  fact  that  only  rods  are  found  in  the 
periphery  of  the  retina ;  in  the  third  place,  they  suppose 
that  the  cone-process  is  insufficiently  stimulated ;  and 
finally,  they  assume  that  the  color-blind  eye  lacks  one  or 
two  or  all  retinal  processes  connected  with  the  cones. 

So  far,  however,  these  theories  have  no  advantage  over 
the  Hering  hypothesis,  for  that  also  sufficiently  explains 
the  colorless  light  sensations  through  one  color-stimulus. 
But  the  von  Kries  and  Franklin  theories  have  the  great 
added  advantage  of  corresponding  accurately  with  the 
observed  anatomical  constitution  of  the  retina.  The  first 
of  these  correspondences  has  already  been  noted,  the  fact 
that  the  outer  edge  or  periphery  of  the  retina  contains 
rods  and  no  cones.  Thus,  every  color-stimulus  which  falls 
on  the  periphery  of  necessity  affects  the  rods.  But  there 
is  another  argument,  from  actual  observation,  for  these 
theories.  It  has  long  been  known  that  the  human  retina 
and  that  of  many  invertebrate  animals  contains  a  purplish 
substance  known  as  'visual  purple.'  This  substance  is 
found  in  the  retinal  rods  and  not  in  the  cones ;  and  the 
experiments  of  Professor  Arthur  Konig  have  established, 
first,  that  it  is  affected  by  lights  of  different  colors  at 
different  rates ;  and  second,  that  these  rates  correspond 
exactly   with   the   intensities    of    different    colors   in    faint 


Franklin  and  Von  Kries   Theories  41 

light.i  For  example,  green,  which  has  the  greatest  in- 
tensity in  faint  Hght,  first  affects  the  visual  purple,  and 
blue  light,  which  has  great  faint  light  intensity,  next 
quickly  affects  it.  This  fact,  that  the  colors  which  are 
intensest  in  faint  light  most  quickly  bleach  the  visual 
purple,  suggests  that  the  functioning  of  this  retinal  sub- 
stance has  to  do  with  the  consciousness  of  faint  or  color- 
less light;  and  the  observation  that  the  visual  purple  is 
found  only  on  the  retinal  rods  confirms  the  view  that  they 
are,  as  von  Kries  puts  it,  an  achromatic  retinal  apparatus, 
definitely  connected  with  the  sensational  element  of  color- 
less light. 

Up  to  this  point  we  have  treated  the  two  theories,  that 
of  C.  L.  Franklin  and  that  of  von  Kries,  as  virtually 
identical.  But  just  as  Mrs.  Franklin  developed,  in  the 
explanation  of  the  color-consciousness,  a  more  detailed 
hypothesis,  so  here  she  amplifies  the  theory  already  out- 
lined. In  brief,  she  supposes  ( i)  that  sensations  of  color- 
less light  are  due  to  the  complete  decomposition  of  a 
photo-chemical  substance  in  either  rods  or  cones  ;  (2)  that 
this  substance  is  chemically  simpler  in  the  rods  than  in 
the  cones,  so  that  a  single  color-stimulus  can  totally  de- 
compose it;  (3)  that  only  a  combination  of  two  or  more 
color-stimuH  can  completely  decompose  the  substance  in 
the  cones  and  so  give  rise  to  a  colorless  light  sensation, 
whereas  a  single  color-stimulus  partially  decomposes  this 
substance,  thus  exciting  a  color-sensation.  A  more  de- 
tailed account  of  this  theory  would  involve  too  many  tech- 
nicalities for  the  present  chapter.  But  in  the  opinion 
of  the  writer  the  underlying  hypothesis  of  the  Franklin 
theory,  though  unsupported  by  experimental  evidence,  is 
the  most  satisfactory  which  has  so  far  been  formulated. ^ 

We  conclude,  therefore,  with  a  brief  summary  of  our 
results.  There  are  probably  three  elemental  colorless 
light    quahties,    white,   black  and    gray.      Their    physical 

1  Cf.  Appendix,  Sectioji  III.,  I.  ?  j^^i^ 


42  Colorless  Light  Sensations 

stimuli  are  of  two  kinds,  an  equal  combination  of  color- 
stimuli,  or  a  single  color-stimulus.  The  retinal  conditions 
of  the  colorless  light  experiences  are  not  definitely  known, 
but  it  is  reasonable  to  conjecture  that,  in  the  first  case,  the 
retinal  cones  are  excited,  very  probably  with  complete 
decomposition  of  their  molecules,  and  that,  in  the  second 
case,  the  retinal  rods  are  stimulated.  The  immediate 
physiological  occasion  of  the  colorless  light  consciousness 
is  the  excitation,  primarily  through  the  optic  nerve,  of  the 
'  visual  area '  in  the  occipital  lobes  of  the  brain. 

III.     Sensational  Elements  of  Brightness 

One  cannot  be  conscious  of  a  color,  a  red  or  a  blue 
for  example,  or  of  a  colorless  light,  a  white  or  black  or 
gray,  without  being  at  the  same  time  conscious  of  its 
brightness  and  of  its  bigness  or  extensity.  The  combina- 
tion of  these  sensational  elements,  which  invariably  accom- 
pany each  other,  is  called  a  sensation.  The  problem  of 
extensity  is  so  complicated  and  so  difficult  that  we  must 
postpone  it  for  a  later  discussion.^  We  shall,  however,  at 
once  consider  the  nature  of  visual  intensity  or  brightness. 
There  is  no  doubt,  in  the  first  place,  that  a  brightness,  as 
well  as  a  color  or  a  gray,  is  a  distinct  and  unanalyzable  ele- 
ment of  consciousness.  It  cannot,  of  course,  be  separated 
from  the  color  or  the  colorless  light  with  which  it  is  com- 
bined, but  it  may  be  perfectly  distinguished  from  it.  Some 
psychologists,  it  is  true,  have  denied  the  distinctness  of 
visual  intensity  elements,  and  have  instead  identified  the 
series  of  brightnesses  with  the  sensational  colorless  light 
series  from  black  through  gray  to  white. ^  According  to 
this  view,  an  intense  color  is  simply  a  color  combined  with 
white.  But  observation  shows  a  striking  difference  be- 
tween a  highly  illuminated  color — for  example,  a  red 
intensely  lighted  from  behind  —  and  the  same  color  mixed 

1  Cf.  Chapter  VIL,  p.  89.  2  cf.  Appendix,  Section  III.,  II. 


Sensational  Elements  of  Brightness  43 

with  gray  or  white  Hght  —  for  example,  a  lighter  red  or 
pink.  We  may,  therefore,  reaffirm  that  the  visual  intensi- 
ties are  distinct  elements  of  consciousness. 

The  visual  intensities  are,  as  every  one  admits,  indefi- 
nite in  number.  They  are  furthermore  distinguished  from 
sensational  qualities  of  color  and  of  colorless  light,  by  their 
capacity  for  direct  and  simple  serial  arrangement.  We 
are  not  yet  prepared  to  discuss  in  detail  the  nature  of 
what  we  know  as  series,  but  for  our  present  purpose  it 
suffices  to  describe  a  psychological  series  as  composed  of 
successive  facts  of  consciousness,  of  which  each  includes 
within  itself  a  feeling  of  '  more,'  that  is,  of  increase.  Now, 
in  the  series  of  brightnesses  each  successive  feeling  of 
'  more  '  is  directly  connected  with  the  sensational  element 
brightness  so  that  the  series  may  be  thus  expressed  : 
'bright  —  more  bright  —  still  more  bright.'  In  the  series 
of  color-elements,  on  the  other  hand,  the  feeling  of  '  more ' 
attaches  itself  to  a  feeling  of  difference,  not  directly  to  a  sen- 
sational element  of  color.  The  series  '  red,  yellow,  green, 
blue,'  cannot  therefore  be  described  as  'red  —  more  red 
—  still  more  red,'  but  is  rather  to  be  described  as  — 

Redi    .... 

Yellow  ....  different  from  red 

{different  from  yellow 
more  different  from  red 


Blue 


'  different  from  green 
more  different  from  yellow 
still  more  different  from  red 


Partly  because  of  their  direct  serial  arrangement,  and 
partly  because  our  practical  and  aesthetic  interests  are 
concerned  only  with  extremes  of  intensity,  we  are  not 
interested  in  naming  the  brightnesses  as  we  are  in  nam- 

^  Such  a  series  as  '  red,  reddish  yellow,  yellowish  green,'  etc.,  is  a  direct 
series,  but  not  a  simple  series.     Cf.  p.  105. 


44  Sensational  Elements  of  Brightness 

ing  the  colors.  For  these  reasons,  the  visual  intensities 
are  estimated  by  comparison  with  each  other,  and  not  with 
reference  to  absolute  standards. 

Some  psychologists  have  argued  that  we  have  no  data 
for    the    physical    and    the    physiological    explanation    of 
brightnesses,  basing    their  view  on  the    assumption    that 
ether-vibrations,  retinal  processes  and  cerebral  excitation 
are  sufficient  only  to  the  explanation  of  sensational  quali- 
ties, the  colors  and  the  colorless  light  elements.     This  as- 
sumption, however,  overlooks  the  fact  that,  in  the  case  of  a 
physiological  process,  we  may  distinguish  the  locality  of 
the  functioning  bodily  organ  and  the  degree  of  its  activity. 
Now  the  colors  and  the  colorless  light  elements  correspond 
with  the  activity  of  a  substance  in  the  cones  or  rods  of 
the  retina,  and  with  the  activity  of  cells  in  the  occipital  lobe. 
The  brightnesses,  therefore,  may  well  correspond  with  the 
different  degrees  of  the  activity  of  these  different  organs. 
In  a  physical  process,  also,  we  distinguish  the  mode  and 
the  degree  of  the  activity;   and  we  know  experimentally 
that  variations  of  degree  in  atmospheric  vibrations,  that 
is  to  say,  differences  of  amplitude  in  an  atmospheric  wave, 
occasion  differences  in  sound-intensity.     It  is  reasonable 
to  infer  that  the  visual  brightnesses  are  due  to  the  degree 
of  ether-vibrations,  or  the  amplitude  of  the  ether-waves. 

We  must  now  sum  up  the  conclusions  of  this  chapter. 
Within  our  conscious  experience  we  have  found,  by  intro- 
spection, these  three  sorts  of  elemental  consciousness  : 
(i)  the  colors:  red,  yellow,  green,  blue;  (2)  the  colorless 
light  elements:  white,  gray  and  black;  and  (3)  the  bright- 
nesses, always  combined  with  colors  or  with  colorless 
lights.  We  have  found,  also,  that  white  is  combined  with 
but  one  intensity  and  that  the  same  is  true  of  black ; 
whereas   numberless    intensities    may   be    combined   with 

gray. 

The  probable  physiological  conditions  of  the  color-ele- 
ments are,  first,  the  mode  of  activity  of  a  substance  in  the 


Vistial  Sensations  45 

retinal  cones,  and  second,  the  mode  of  activity  of  cells  in 
the  occipital  lobes  of  the  brain.  The  physiological  con- 
dition of  the  white,  gray  and  black  is  the  mode  of  activity 
of  rod-substance  and  of  brain-cells.  The  physiological 
condition  of  brightnesses  is,  however,  not  the  mode,  but 
the  degree,  of  retinal  and  of  brain  activity. 

The  physical  condition  of  sensational  elements  of  color 
is  the  mode  of  ether-vibration,  that  is,  the  length  of  the 
ether-waves  which  fall  on  the  retina.  The  physical  con- 
dition of  the  colorless  light  consciousness  is  a  combination 
of  the  ether-waves  of  all  possible  wave-lengths.  The 
physical  condition  of  visual  intensities  or  brightnesses  is, 
in  all  probability,  the  degree  of  the  ether-vibration,  that  is, 
the  amplitude  of  the  ether-waves  which  excite  the  retina. 


CHAPTER  III 
AUDITORY    SENSATIONS 

Next  in  prominence  to  the  colors,  forms  and  lights  of 
our  sense-experience  are  the  sounds — human  voices,  nature 
sounds  and  musical  harmontes.  In  any  complex  sound, 
that  of  rippling  waves,  for  example,  tone  and  noise  are 
readily  distinguished,  but  both  tone  and  noise  are  further 
analyzable.  They  differ  from  each  other  in  that  the  first 
is  characterized  by  pitch,  the  second  by  noise-quality  ;  they 
are  alike  in  that  both  tones  and  noises  include  intensity, 
and  probably  also  volume,  or  extensity.  We  must  go  on 
to  show  just  what  these  terms  mean. 

I.    Sensational  Elements  of  Pitch  and  Noise 

Pitch  is  the  sense-element  which  characterizes  tone. 
Like  every  element  of  consciousness,  it  is  indescribable. 
We  may  say  that  it  is  characterized  by  the  terms  '  high ' 
and  '  low ' ;  and  may  point  out  that  it  is  the  quality  in 
which  a  soprano  voice  differs  from  a  contralto,  a  tenor 
voice  from  a  bass,  the  C  of  a  musical  instrument  from  the 
G  above  it.  Further  than  this  we  cannot  go.  The  search 
for  unanalyzable  pitch-elements  is  more  difficult  than  that 
for  primary  color-qualities.^  Experimental  observation  on 
tuning-forks  (which  give  approximately  simple  tones,  not 
analyzable  into  overtones  and  fundamentals)  has  shown 
about  eleven  thousand  tones,  said  to  be  distinguishable  in 
pitch.  These  differences,  moreover,  are  continuous,  and 
not,  like  those  of  many  alleged  color-elements,  mere  differ- 
ences between  different  compounds.  For  example,  the 
difference  in  pitch  between  the  higher  note,  D,  and  the 

1  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  67,  68;   Titchener,  §  12  (l). 

46 


Sensational  Elements  of  Pitch  and  Noise     47 

lower,  C,  is  a  difference  between  two  unanalyzable  elements 
of  pitch,  whereas  reddish  purple  (at  least  in  the  opinion  of 
many  observers)  differs  from  red,  as  a  complex  from  an 
element.  It  should  be  added  that  individuals  and  species 
vary  greatly  in  their  ability  to  distinguish  very  high  and 
very  low  tones.  Some  people,  accordingly,  are  spoken  of  as 
deaf  to  low  or  to  high  tones,  and  some  animals  hear  notes 
inaudible  to  human  beings.  Cats,  for  example,  give  every 
indication  of  hearing  the  high  tones  of  a  Galton  whistle, 
sounds  so  high  pitched  that  they  are  inaudible  to  us. 

The  most  characteristic  feature  of  the  series  of  tones,  as 
compared  with  that  of  colors,  is  the  recurrence  of  parallel 
series  of  elements  of  pitch.  These  are  the  octaves,  which 
resemble  each  other  as  wholes.  The  series  of  differently 
pitched  tones  may,  therefore,  as  has  been  suggested,  be 
symbolized  by  a  spiral,  ascending  from  base  to  apex,  of 
which  each  curve  represents  an  octave.  The  study  of  the 
octave  involves,  however,  a  consideration  of  the  interval, 
and  the  interval  is  a  complex  and  not  an  elemental  expe- 
rience, so  that  it  is  not  appropriately  discussed  in  this 
connection. 

UnHke  tone,  noise  is  devoid  of  pitch.  Certain  observers, 
it  is  true,  speak  of  the  pitch  of  a  simple  noise,  but,  closely 
observed,  anything  which  has  pitch  appears  to  be  what  we 
mean  by  tone.^  Others  believe  that  a  noise  is  merely  a 
very  complex,  and  thus  an  utterly  discordant,  mixture  of 
tones,  and  that,  so  far  from  lacking  pitch,  it  is  a  confused 
mass  of  innumerable  pitches.  Now  it  is  true  that  what  we 
ordinarily  know  as  a  noise  includes  an  irregular  combina- 
tion of  tones  of  different  pitch. ^  If  one  Hsten  to  the  com- 
mon-place noises  of  falling  footsteps,  rolling  wheels  and 
clanging  bells,  holding  to  one's  ear  successively  a  set  of 
resonators,  each  fitted  to  transmit  to  the  ear  only  air-waves 
exciting  a  single  pitch,  one  may  assure  oneself  experimen- 

1  Cf.  W.  Wun.lt.  "  Physiologische  Psychologic,"  4te  Aufl.,  I.,  p.  448. 

2  Yox  experiments,  cf.  Titchener,  §  12  (2)  and  (3). 


48     Sensational  Elements  of  Pitch  and  Noise 

tally  that  the  so-called  noise  contains  differently  pitched 
tones.  But  though  containing  these  discordant  tones,  this 
mass  of  sounds  probably  includes,  and  is  characterized  by, 
a  certain  elemental  noise-quality.  For  if  the  stimulus  to  a 
simple  tone  is  continuously  varied,  so  that  its  pitch  becomes 
gradually  lower  or  higher,  there  will  come  in  each  case  a 
point  of  transition  to  some  sensational  element,  distinguish- 
able from  a  pitch,  which  may  be  named  (in  lieu  of  a  more 
characteristic  designation)  a  'noise-quality,'  that  is,  the 
element  characteristic  of  the  complex  experience,  noise. 
It,  however,  so  seldom  occurs,  in  even  relative  isolation, 
that  it  often  is  not  even  identified  by  the  ordinary  observer. 
There  is,  for  this  reason,  no  enumeration  of  '  primary  '  or 
absolutely  unanalyzable  noise-qualities,  like  the  list,  red, 
green,  blue,  yellow,  of  primary  color-elements.  Such 
words  as  'snap,'  'puff,'  'thud,'  do,  however,  point  to  cer- 
tain distinct  noise-elements.  From  the  sensibility  to  differ- 
ences of  noise,  553  (alleged)  noise-qualities  have  been 
calculated,  but  most  of  these  probably  are  capable  of 
analysis,  and  therefore  are  not  strictly  elemental. 

Once  more,  we  shall  find  it  convenient  to  consider  the 
physical,  and  therefore  secondary  and  remote,  conditions  of 
pitch  and  noise-quality,  before  regarding  the  more  imme- 
diate physiological  antecedents.  The  physical  condition 
of  sound  in  general  may  be  described  as  oscillation  of  air- 
particles,  producing  rarefactions  and  condensations  of  the 
air.  A  rarefaction  followed  by  a  condensation  is  called  an 
atmospheric  wave.  Pitch  is,  in  all  probability,  occasioned 
by  a  succession  of  simple  and  regular  atmospheric  waves, 
or  even  by  a  small  portion  of  a  simple  atmospheric  wave.^ 


^  It  is  usually  held  that  at  least  two  complete  air-waves  are  necessary  to 
excite  sensations  of  tone.  Experiments,  however,  indicate  that  even  a  portion 
of  a  single,  simple  air-wave  excites  a  sensation  of  tone,  whose  pitch  corresponds 
to  the  length  of  the  complete  air-wave  of  which  a  part  only  has  stimulated  the 
ear.  Cf.  C.  R.  Cross  and  M.  E.  Malthy,  "  On  the  Eeast  Number  of  Vibrations 
Necessary  to  Determine  Pitch,"  Proc.  01  the  Amer.  Acad.,  1892,  p.  222. 


Physical  Conditions  49 

Noise,  on  the  other  hand,  is  probably  due  to  a  complex  and 
irregular  combination  of  air-waves,  that  is,  to  an  irregular 
and  unperiodic  vibration  of  air-particles.  Different  quali- 
ties of  pitch  are  found  by  experiment  to  correspond  to  the 
varying  length  of  the  atmospheric  waves.  The  swifter  the 
atmospheric  vibrations,  that  is,  the  greater  the  number  and 
the  shorter  the  length  of  the  air-waves  in  any  second  of 
time,  the  higher  is  the  pitch  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
slower  the  vibrations,  that  is,  the  fewer  and  longer  the  air- 
waves of  a  second,  the  lower  or  deeper  is  the  pitch.  This 
is  the  principle  on  which  all  stringed  instruments  are  con- 
structed. The  shorter  strings  of  the  piano  are  struck  to 
produce  its  higher  notes ;  and  the  violinist's  finger  divides 
his  string  to  obtain  from  the  swifter  air-vibrations,  propa- 
gated by  the  motion  of  each  half,  a  tone  an  octave  higher 
than  that  produced  by  the  slower  vibration  of  the  entire 
length.  As,  therefore,  a  definite  number  of  ether-vibra- 
tions corresponds  with  each  experience  of  color,  so  each 
pitch  has  its  vibration  number  :  low  c,  for  example  (in  what 
is  called  the  small  octave)  is  produced,  through  the 
excitation  of  nerve-endings  and  brain-cells,  by  128  vibra- 
tions ;  and  its  octave,  c',  is  excited  by  exactly  twice  as 
many,  or  256  vibrations. 

But  these  physical  phenomena  are  conditions  of  sound 
only  indirectly,  as  they  bring  about  neural  changes.  They 
stimulate  nervous  end-organs  enclosed  within  the  ear, 
whose  structure,  therefore,  we  have  next  to  consider.  The 
external  ear,  or  concha  {M),  reflects  the  air-waves  and  air- 
shocks  into  the  hollow  tube,  or  external  meatus  {G\  which 
is  closed  by  a  surface,  the  tympanic  membrane  ( T).  This 
is  thrown  into  vibration  by  the  motion  of  the  air-particles, 
and  its  motion  is  transmitted  to  a  series  of  three  bones 
called,  from  their  shape,  malleus,  incus  and  stapes  (that  is, 
hammer,  anvil  and  stirrup).  These  bones  He  within  the 
drum  or  middle  ear  {P\  a  hollow  in  the  temporal  bone 
from  which  the  Eustachian  tube  leads  to  the  pharynx. 
The  middle  ear  communicates  by  two  openings  wath  the 


50 


A  uditory  Sens  a  tio7is 


inner  ear.  Into  one  of  these  openings,  ^ho.  foramen  ovale 
or  oval  window  ((9),  the  stapes  or  stirrup-bone  fits  closely; 
the  other  opening,  the  foramen  lotnnduvi  (r),  is  closed 
merely  by  a  membrane. 


Fig.  5. —  Semidiagrammatic  section  tlirough  the  right  ear  (Czermak). 

The  inner  ear  is  composed  of  hollows  in  the  temporal 
bone,  with  membranous  lining  throughout.  These  con- 
sist of  a  middle  chamber,  the  vestibule  (  V^,  which  divides 
the  three  semicircular  canals  from  the  cochlea  (^).  The 
canals,  however,  are  almost  certainly  unconnected  with 
phenomena  of  hearing,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  ves- 
tibule has  to  do  with  sound-sensations.  We  are,  therefore, 
chiefly  concerned  with  the  structure  of  the  cochlea.  •  It  is 
in  form  a  spiral,  consisting  of  two  and  one-half  coils  around 
a  bony  axis.  From  this  axis  projects  a  bony  shelf,  the 
lamina  spiralis  {Iso  in  Figure  6)  ending  in  the  basilar 
membrane  (/?).  Together,  bone  and  membrane  divide 
each  spiral  into  two  winding  half -coils,  the  scala  tympani 
(ST)  and  the  scala  vestibiili  {S  V).  The  former  opens  by 
the  round  foramen  into  the  middle  ear ;  the  latter  is  con- 


The  Ear 


51 


nected  with  the  vestibule.  (A  third  division,  the  scala 
media  (CC )  is  partitioned  off,  by  a  membrane,  within  the 
scala  vestibuli.) 


Fig.  6.  —  Section  of  one  coil  of  the  coclilea,  magnified. 

The  structure  of  the  basilar  membrane  is  of  great  im- 
portance for  our  present  study.  It  consists  of  cross- 
fibres,  varying  in  length  from  beginning  to  apex  of  the 
cochlea,  and  carrying  nerve-cells.  From  some  of  these 
cells,  hairs  project,  and  in  these  same  cells  ramifications  of 
the  acoustic  nerve  have  their  termination.  Other  cells  sup- 
port the  inner  and  outer  '  organs  of  Corti,'  which  number 
respectively  six  thousand  and  forty-five  hundred.  They 
are  tiny,  membranous  rods,  leaned  against  each  other  at 
their  upper  ends  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of  arch,  and  decreas- 
ing in  length  from  base  to  apex  of  the  spiral.  It  used 
to  be  thought  that  the  organs  of  Corti  play  the  part  in  our 
ears  of  strings  in  a  piano,  vibrating  because  of  their  differ- 
ing length  and  span  with  air-waves  of  different  rates. 
Several  arguments,  however,  tell  strongly  against  this  view. 
The  rods  are  neither  sufficient  in  number,  nor  sufficiently 
varied  in  size,  to  serve  this  purpose  ;  they  are  not  found  in 
the  auditory  end-organs  of  birds  whose  ability  to  discrimi- 
nate pitches  can  hardly  be  doubted  ;  and  finally,  they  are 
not  directly  connected  with  the  fibres  of  the  auditory  nerve, 
which  terminate,  as  has  been  said,  in  the  hair-cells  of  the 
basilar  membrane.     It  is  possible,  therefore,  though  it  is 


52 


The  Ear 


not  certain,  that,  hot  the  organs  of  Corti,  but  the  cross- 
fibres  of  the  basilar  membrane,  which  increase  in  length 
from  the  bottom  of  the  spiral  nearly  to  the  apex,  are 
fitted,  or  tuned  as  it  were,  to  vibrate  with  air-waves  of  all 
different  periods.  This  independent  vibration  of  basilar 
membrane  fibres  is  certainly  possible,  for  though  the  basi- 
lar membrane  is  'tense  radially,'  it  is  loose  in  one  direction, 
namely  'longitudinally  along  the  spiral  of  the  cochlea.'^ 
If  this  view  is  correct,  the  vibration  of  these  fibres  excites 
some  of  the  sixteen  to  twenty  thousand  overlying  hair- 
cells,  and  the  hair-cells  in  turn  affect  the  fibres  of  the 
auditory  nerve.  In  this  case,  the  organs  of  Corti  and 
the  hairs  projecting  from  the  hair-cells  probably  serve, 
like  the  dampers  of  a  piano,  merely  to  stop  the  movements 
of  the  vibrating  fibres. 

A  B 


Fir,.  7. — The  rods  of  Corti.  A,  a  pair  of  rods  separated  from  the  rest  ;  B,  a 
bit  of  the  basilar  memljrane  with  several  rods  on  it,  sliowins;  how  they  cover  in  the 
tunnel  of  Corti;  i,  inner,  and  e,  outer,  rods;  b,  basilar  membrane;  r,  reticular 
membrane. 

The  outline,  which  follows,  of  the  process  in  the  ear  is, 
in  great  part,  merely  tentative.  We  consider,  first,  the 
case  in  which  all  or  part  of  a  simple  air-wave,  of  perhaps 
128  vibrations  per  second,  sets  the  tympanic  membrane  in 
motion.  This  motion  is  communicated  by  the  bones  of  the 
middle  ear  to  the  membranous  covering  of  the  oval  fora- 
men,  that  is,  the  window  opening  into  the  inner  ear.     The 


1  Cf.  Foster,  "Text -book  of  Physiology,"  Bk.  TIL,  Chapter  IV.,  p.  1015. 


Loudness  53 

vibrations  of  this  membrane  indirectly  set  in  motion  the 
endolymph,  a  liquid  with  which  the  membranous  cochlea  is 
filled,  and  the  movement  of  this  liquid  excites  those  only  of 
the  cross-fibres  of  the  basilar  membrane  whose  vibration 
number  is  either  exactly  or  approximately  128.  But,  in  the 
second  place,  the  tympanic  membrane,  the  ear-bones,  and 
the  endolymph  may  be  stimulated  by  a  compound  and  yet 
regular  air-wave ;  in  this  case  several  basilar  membrane 
fibres  of  varying  length  will  be  excited,  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  clang  or  chord  will  result,  instead  of  the  simple 
sensation.  A  complex  and  irregular,  or  unperiodic,  vibra- 
tion may,  finally,  affect  the  organs  of  the  ear.  To  this,  the 
fibres  of  the  basilar  membrane  must  respond  with  an  irregu- 
lar movement — what  has  been  called  a  'twitch,'  and  the 
sensation  which  follows  is  that  of  noise. 

The  cerebral  condition  both  of  tone  and  of  noise  is,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  excitation  of  a  temporal  lobe  of  the  brain. 
Originally  and  primarily,  this  cerebral  centre  is  excited  by 
impulses  conveyed  along  the  auditory  nerve  from  the  basi- 
lar membrane  ;  but  later,  the  brain-centre  may  be  excited 
from  within,  so  that  the  music  of  our  reveries  and  the 
voices  of  our  dreams  probably  occur  without  the  function- 
ing of  end-organs  in  the  ear. 


II.   Sensational  Elements  of  Loudness 

Another  sensational  element,  loudness  or  sound-intensity, 
is  invariably  connected  both  with  pitch  and  with  noise-qual- 
ity. It  is,  of  course,  impossible  to  describe  sound-intensity, 
but  everybody  who  can  recognize  either  a  tone  or  a  noise 
knows  that  it  may  be  soft  or  loud,  and  that  what  is  called 
its  intensity  may  vary  indefinitely,  while  its  pitch  or  noise 
quality  remains  the  same.  For  the  rest,  sound-intensities, 
or  loudnesses,  are  parallel  with  the  color-intensities  or 
brightnesses.  For  they  are  not  well  provided  with  designa- 
tions, they  shade  gradually  into  each  other,  and  they  are 


54  Sensational  Ele7nents  of  Loudness 

capable  of  direct  serial  arrangement:  'loud  —  louder  — 
still  louder.'  In  these  series,  the  feeling  of  '  more  '  is  always 
directly  combined  with  the  intensity,  whereas  in  pitch- 
series,  which  resemble  color-series,  the  tones  are  succes- 
sively '  more  different '  or  '  less  different'  from  each  other, 
forming  such  series  as  — 

C         .        .        . 

D         .         .         .         different  from  C 

-c  (  different  from  D 

n.  .  .  .      .1 

[  ///ore  different  from  C 

r  different  from  E 
■^  *         '         '      i  ^'^'^^''^  different  from  D 

[  s//7/  ///ore  different  from  C 

The  physiological  and  physical  conditions  of  sound-inten- 
sities are  like  those  of  the  color-intensities.  The  amplitude 
of  the  air-wave,  that  is,  the  extent  of  vibrations  of  each  air- 
particle,  is  known  to  condition  the  intensity  of  sound,  and 
the  greater  the  movement  of  each  particle,  the  louder  is 
the  sound.  This  is,  of  course,  the  principle  of  the  speak- 
ing-tube :  the  confinement  of  the  air  within  narrow  limits 
prevents  radiation  of  the  voice-impetus  in  many  directions, 
and  gives  greater  force  to  the  movement  of  the  fewer  par- 
ticles of  air.  We  have  also  every  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  degree  of  nervous  excitation  both  in  the  end-organs 
and  in  the  brain-centre,  or  in  the  cerebral  centre  alone,  is 
the  physiological  condition  of  sound-intensities. 

The  writer,  in  common  with  many  psychologists,  recog- 
nizes a  third  factor  of  sound-sensations,  voluminousness,  or 
sound-extensity,  the  element  of  sounds  which  distinguishes 
tones  of  the  same  pitch  and  intensity,  as  played  on  differ- 
ent instruments.  The  existence  of  this  element  is,  how- 
ever, denied  by  many  authorities  ;  and  the  discussion  of  it 
willj  therefore,  be  postponed  to  the  general  chapter  on  the 
consciousness  of  extensity. 


CHAPTER    IV 

SENSATIONS  OF  TASTE  AND  OF  SMELL 

I.    Sensations  of  Taste 

We  are  familiar  already  with  the  psychologist's  method 
of  approaching  every  experience,  —  the  analysis  of  it  into 
its  ultimate  elements.  The  method  has  now  to  be  applied 
to  the  experiences  which  we  know  as  tastes. 

The  ordinary  individual,  asked  to  name  what  he  had 
*  tasted '  at  dinner,  might  respond  with  some  such  list  as 
the  following :  beef-boullion,  roast  duck,  potato,  onion, 
dressed  celery,  peach  ice  and  coffee.  But  the  psycholo- 
gist would  conclude  at  once  that  some  of  the  tastes  enu- 
merated were  complex  experiences,  made  up  of  simpler 
elements.  And  the  experimentalist  would  go  further :  he 
would  take  means  to  isolate,  so  far  as  he  could,  the  condi- 
tions of  taste,  so  that  other  sense-elements  should  be  shut 
out  from  consciousness.  To  this  end  he  would  select,  if 
possible,  as  subject  of  the  experiments,  an  anosmic  person, 
that  is,  one  without  smell-sensations,  or  else  he  would  close 
the  subject's  nostrils,  so  as  to  eliminate  most  of  these  smell- 
sensations  ;  and  he  would  certainly  blindfold  the  subject, 
to  prevent  his  seeing  the  articles  which  he  tasted.  These 
substances  would  be  presented  to  him  at  an  even  tem- 
perature, and  the  soHds  would  be  finely  minced  so  as  to 
be  indistinguishable  in  form.  Judging  by  the  results  of 
actual  experiments,  in  particular  those  of  Professor  G.  T. 
W.  Patrick,^  the  results  of  such  a  test  as  applied  to  our 

1"  University  of  Iowa  Studies  in  Psychology,"  Vol.  IL,  p.  85,  ox  Psychologi- 
cal Review,  1899,  p.  160. 

55 


56  Sensationl  Ele^ncnts  of  Taste 

suggested  menu,  would  be  the  following  :  the  blindfolded 
and  anosmic  subject  would  as  likely  as  not  suppose  that 
he  had  tasted  chicken  broth,  beef,  potato,  an  unknown 
sweetish  substance,  another  unknown  material  mixed  with 
a  thick  tasteless  oil,  a  sweet  unflavored  substance  and  a 
slightly  bitter  liquid  —  perhaps  a  dilute  solution  of  quinine. 
A  normal  person,  also  bhndfolded,  but  without  closed  nos- 
trils, would  recognize  the  onion,  the  peach,  the  coffee  and 
often  the  olive  oil ;  but  would  be  as  likely  to  confuse  the 
beef  and  the  duck ;  whereas,  if  these  were  unsalted,  the 
anosmic  subject  would  fail  to  recognize  them  even  as  meats. 
Certain  substances,  on  the  other  hand,  for  instance,  the 
different  sorts  of  bread,  of  white,  graham  and  rye  flours, 
would  be  better  discriminated  by  the  anosmic  subject. 

These  results  are  easy  of  interpretation.  What  we  know 
as  the  different  tastes  are  complex  experiences,  made  up 
of  odors,  motor  experiences,  pressure  and  pain  sensations, 
visual  elements  and  a  far  more  limited  number  of  taste- 
elements  than  we  ordinarily  suppose.  The  odor  is  the 
significant  element  in  such  '  tastes '  as  Q.gg,  milk,  fruit, 
wine,  onion,  chocolate,  coffee  and  tea.  Tea  and  coffee 
are,  indeed,  undistinguished  from  quinine,  when  the  odor- 
elements  are  excluded,  and  are  differentiated  from  each 
other  only  by  the  slight  astringency  of  the  tea,  that  is,  by 
the  peculiar  pressure-experience,  the  '  puckering,'  which 
it  incites.  The  so-called  tastes  of  nuts,  vegetables  and 
grains  form  a  second  class,  for  they  consist,  in  large  part, 
of  pressure-sensations  excited  by  stimulation  of  the  tongue. 
It  follows  that  because  of  his  trained  attention  to  degrees 
of  roughness,  smoothness,  hardness  and  softness,  the 
anosmic  person  can  distinguish  better  than  the  normal 
person,  if  both  are  blindfolded,  breads  made  of  different 
grains.  The  pungent  tastes,  in  the  third  place,  like  the 
spices,  are  largely  distinguished  by  sensational  elements 
of  pain  and  perhaps  of  heat.  And,  finally,  in  another 
class  of  tastes  the  important  feature  is  visual,  as  is 
proved  by  the  fact  that   the  varieties   of   meats   and    of 


Sensational  Elements  of  Taste  57 

breads  are  so  frequently  undistinguished   by  the   blind- 
folded observer. 

But  the  proof  that  most  of  the  so-called  tastes  are  com- 
plexes of  smell,  touch  and  color,  with  or  without  taste, 
leaves  us  still  with  the  question,  How  many  of  these  taste- 
elements  are  there,  and  how  arc  they  named  ?  The  most 
probable  theory  recognizes  precisely  four  tastes:  sweet, 
salt,  sour  and  bitter.  For  this  conclusion,  there  are  two 
main  arguments.  The  first  is  introspective  :  these  four  ex- 
periences are  actually  distinct  and  unanalyzable.  The  effort 
to  analyze  them  further,  and  to  reduce  all  tastes  to  two  ele- 
ments, for  example,  sweet  and  bitter,^  is  admitted  by  almost 
every  observer  to  be  unavaiHng.  Neither  salt  nor  sour  is 
any  fusion  of  other  elements  ;  each  is  itself  and  is  further  ir- 
reducible. The  attempt  to  discover,  embedded  in  our  experi- 
ence, a  new  taste-element,  has  been  equally  fruitless.  Such 
a  fifth  element  is  the  alleged  alkaline  or  insipid  taste,^ 
but  close  introspection  pronounces  it  a  faint  degree  of 
saltness. 

It  should  be  noted,  finally,  that  tastes  have  a  strong  affec- 
tive value,  that  is,  that  they  are  emphatically  pleasant  or 
unpleasant  and  seldom  indifferent.  The  common  confusion 
of  the  words  '  sweet '  and  '  good  '  is,  therefore,  no  accident ; 
and  such  expressions  as  '  bitter  grief,'  '  sour  face,'  '  sweet 
dreams,'  are  metaphors  founded  on  this  essentially  affec- 
tive nature  of  the  tastes.  The  pleasantness  or  unpleas- 
antness of  the  tastes,  it  will  be  observed,  has  a  significance 
in  the  evolution  of  animal  Hfe,  for  harmful  foods,  which 
are  also  unpleasant,  are  more  readily  rejected,  and  healthful 
foods  are  more  likely  to  be  eaten  if  they  are  also  pleasant. 

We  shall  next  consider  the  physiological  conditions  of 
taste.  In  spite  of  great  individual  differences,  it  may  be 
said,  in  a  general  way,  that  the  surface  of  the  tongue, 

1  Lackl  (quoting  Valentine)  "  Elements,"  p.  1 66. 

2  Cf.  Kiesow  in  Wundt's  "  Philosophische  Studien,"  X.  and  XII. ;    Wundt's 
"  Physiologische  Psychologic,"  4te  Aufl.,  I.,  439  ;  and  Patrick,  op.  cit.,  p.  92. 


58  E7id-organs  of  Taste 

especially  the  back  and  tip  of  it,  the  forward  surface  of 
the  palate  and  sometimes  other  parts  of  the  mucous  mem- 
brane lining  the  mouth  cavity,  are  known  to  be  sensitive 
to  taste-stimuli,  and  to  be  connected  with  nerves  leading 
to  the  'taste-centres'  in  the  temporal  lobes  of  the  brain. ^ 
Examination  discloses  on  these  surfaces  sHght  elevations, 
consisting  of  membranous  folds,  called  papillae.  These 
differ  in  structure,  and  two  forms  of  them  are  probably  of 
especial  importance.^  These  are,  first,  the  small,  reddish 
papillse,  readily  recognized  on  the  forward  and  middle  sur- 
face of  the  tongue,  and  second,  the  large  circumvallate 
papillre,  shaped  like  castles  with  moats  about  them,  which 
are  found  near  the  root  of  the  tongue.  On  the  circumval- 
late papillns  are  certain  minuter  structures  known  as  taste- 
buds,  but  these  cannot  be  essential  to  taste,  since  they 
are  not  found  on  the  papillae  of  the  tip  and  sides  of  the 
tongue.  No  certain  connection  of  a  distinct  end-organ 
with  each  of  the  different  tastes  has  been  made  out.  But 
whatever  their  structure  and  their  mode  of  functioning,  the 
end-organs  of  taste  occasion  contrast  effects.^  The  con- 
trast between  sweet  and  sour  is  especially  noticeable; 
candy  is  oversweet  when  one  has  been  drinking  lemon- 
ade, oranges  very  sour  after  ice-cream. 

Of  the  physical  stimuli  of  taste-sensations,  we  know  even 
less  than  of  the  indefinitely  localized  physiological  organs. 
Chemically  distinct  substances  may  even  arouse  the  same 
sensational  quality,  for  example,  both  sugar  and  acetate  of 
lead  give  a  'sweet'  taste.  Only  one  general  statement 
may  be  hazarded  :  the  taste-stimulus  is  always  in  liquid 
form.  If  the  tip  of  the"  tongue  be  carefully  dried,  a 
crystal  of  sugar  placed  upon  it  will  seem  tasteless,  until 
the  tongue  again  becomes  moist  enough  to  dissolve  it.  The 
sum  of  our  knowledge  of  the  physiological  and  physical 

1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  I.,  I. 

-  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  53;   Titchener  §  24,  25. 
3  Kiilpe,  "Outline  of  Psychology,"  §   12.     For  experiments,  cf.  Titchener, 
§26. 


Sensational  Elements  of  Taste  Intensity       59 

conditions  of  taste  amounts  simply,  therefore,  to  this: 
stimuli  in  liquid  form  affect  end-organs  situated  in  the 
papillae  of  the  mucous  lining  of  the  mouth  cavity,  and  these 
are  connected  by  afferent  fibres  with  the  temporal  lobes 
of  the  hemispheres. 

Besides  the  taste-quality,  a  total  sensation  of  taste  (that 
is,  the  compound  of  the  feeling  of  either  sweet,  salt,  sour 
or  bitter,  with  its  invariable  accompaniments)  includes  a 
sensational  element  of  taste  intensity.  This  is  unnamed, 
but  it  is  as  clearly  distinguished  and  as  unanalyzable  a  sen- 
sational element  as  a  brightness  or  a  loudness.  For  exam- 
ple, the  taste  of  highly  salted  food  differs  in  its  feeling  of 
salt-intensity  from  the  taste  of  slightly  salted  food ;  and 
the  taste  of  a  one  per  cent  solution  of  quinine  differs  from 
that  of  a  thirty  per  cent  solution  in  its  feeling  of  quinine- 
intensity.  These  intensities,  moreover,  like  the  bright- 
nesses and  loudnesses,  are  capable  of  simple  serial  arrange- 
ment. We  may  assume  that  they  are  conditioned  by  the 
degree  of  physical  stimulus  and  physiological  excitation. 

Some  psychologists  also  teach  that  tastes,  like  tones  and 
noises,  have  a  certain  volume  or  extensity.  It  will  be  con- 
venient, however,  to  discuss  all  forms  of  extensity  together, 
in  a  later  chapter. 

II.    Sensations  of  Smell 

We  have  little  scientific  knowledge  of  odors.  Even  our 
names  for  them  are  borrowed,  usually  from  the  objects  to 
which  we  chance  to  refer  them,  and  occasionally  even  from 
their  affective  accompaniments.  Thus  we  know  some 
odors  only  vaguely  as  good  or  bad,  that  is,  pleasant  or 
unpleasant,  and  at  the  best  we  can  say  nothing  more  defi- 
nite than  'heliotrope  fragrance'  or  'kerosene  odor.'  This 
chaotic  state  of  affairs  is  largely  due  to  the  limited  signifi- 
cance of  odors  in  our  intellectual  and  our  artistic  life. 
Language,  the  great  medium  of  intellectual  achievement, 


6o  Sensations  of  Smell 

is  invariably,  because  most  readily,  made  up  of  visual  and 
of  auditory  symbols ;  and  art  employs  visual  and  auditory 
materials,  both  because  they  admit  such  numberless  combi- 
nations, and  because,  also,  forms  and  colors  are  relatively  per- 
manent and  sounds  are  readily  reproducible.  Odors,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  far  less  capable  of  fusions,  and  are  neither 
permanent  nor  easily  revivable,  hence  they  are  of  little  im- 
portance in  art ;  and  so  it  comes  about  that  the  perfumer  is 
even  less  likely  than  the  cook  to  be  reckoned  among  artists. 

The  closer  knowledge,  so  greatly  needed,  of  odors  and 
their  conditions  can  be  gained  only  by  experimental  intro- 
spection. This,  however,  is  unfortunately  of  extraordinary 
difficulty,  because  we  are  so  ignorant  of  the  physiological 
processes  and  the  physical  conditions  involved.  Many 
smells  are,  of  course,  like  tastes,  obviously  complex  ex- 
periences containing  elements  of  taste,  touch  and  vision, 
as  well  as  of  smell.  The  pungency  of  such  smells  as  that 
of  ammonia  is  thus  a  touch-quality ;  and  such  experiences 
as  smelHng  sour  milk  are  perhaps  due  to  the  entrance  of 
particles  through  the  nose  into  the  throat.  But  this  does 
not  alter  the  need  for  the  discovery  and  classification  of 
the  real  smell-qualities. 

The  most  satisfactory  classification  of  smells,  as  we 
meet  them  in  nature,  is  that  adapted  by  the  Dutch  physi- 
ologist, Zwaardemaker,  from  the  classification  of  Linnaeus. 
It  recognizes  the  following  classes  :  — 

1.  Ethereal  smells,  including  all  fruit  odors. 

2.  Aromatic  smells,  for  example,  those  of  camphor,  spices,  lemon,  rose. 

3.  Fragrant  sinells,  for  example,  those  of  most  flowers. 

4.  Ambrosiac  smells,  for  example,  all  musk  odors. 

5.  Alliaceous  smells,  for  example,  those  of  garlic,  asafoetida,  fish,  chlorine. 

6.  Empyreumatic  smells,  for  example,  those  of  tobacco  and  toast. 

7.  Hircine  smells,  for  example,  those  of  cheese  and  rancid  fat. 

8.  Virulent  smells,  for  example,  that  of  opium. 

9.  Nauseating  smells,  for  example,  that  of  decaying  animal  matter.^ 

1  E.  A.  McC.  Gamble,  "The  Applicability  of  Weber's  Law  to  Smell,"  p.  ID; 
and  Zwaardemaker,  "  Physiologic  des  Geruchs,"  233-235. 


Se7isations  of  Smell  6i 

This  classification,  however,  aims  simply  to  group  natu- 
ral objects  according  to  obvious  similarities,  not  to  classify 
odors  by  the  unanalyzable  smell-elements  which  distin- 
guish them.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  to  discover 
that  many  of  the  smells  which  it  enumerates  are  capable 
of  further  analysis.  Thus,  in  the  odors  of  the  strawberry, 
the  rose  and  the  violet,  —  as  compared,  for  instance,  with 
the  odors  of  benzine  and  of  laudanum,  —  there  certainly 
seems  to  be  an  unnamed  common  element  to  which  this 
list  makes  no  reference.  This  introspective  conclusion, 
that  so-called  smell-qualities  are  reducible  to  simpler  ones, 
is  supported  by  a  study  of  the  end-organs  of  smell,  which 
are  fitted,  as  we  shall  see,  for  functioning  in  only  a  limited 
number  of  ways.  In  the  present  state  of  experiment  and 
discussion,  the  question  of  the  number  of  odor-elements 
must,  however,  be  turned  over  to  the  expert. 

Our  conclusions  are,  therefore,  very  indefinite:  we  have 
sensational  experiences,  known  as  smells  or  odors,  dis- 
tinguished from  each  other,  but  not  designated  by  special 
names ;  they  are  probably  analyzable  into  a  few  distinct 
elements,  but  this  analysis  has  never  been  satisfactorily 
made  ;  and  they  are  often  compounded,  and  sometimes  con- 
fused, with  tastes  and  touches.  The  arguments  for  the 
existence  of  smell-intensities  are  so  closely  parallel  to 
those  concerning  taste-intensities  that  they  need  not  be 
enumerated.  The  discussion  of  smell-extensity  or  volume 
is  postponed  to  another  chapter. 

The  structure  of  the  physiological  end-organs  of  smell 
is  not  very  clearly  made  out.  Two  phenomena  indicate, 
however,  that  these  organs  are  so  distinct  that  they  corre- 
spond both  with  different  physical  stimuli  and  with  differ- 
ent smell-experiences.  One  of  these  phenomena  is  that  of 
exhaustion.  Experimental  investigations  show,  for  ex- 
ample, that  "a  subject  whose  organ  is  fatigued  by  the  con- 
tinuous smelling  of  tincture  of  iodine  can  sense  ethereal 
oils  almost  or  quite  as  well  as  ever,  oils  of  lemon,  turpen- 


62  The  Nose 

tine  and  cloves  but  faintly,  and  common  alcohol  not  at 
all."  ^  Evidently,  therefore,  different  parts  of  the  end- 
organs  are  affected  by  these  distinct  smell-stimuli,  else  the 
nostrils  would  be  exhausted  for  all  smells  at  the  same 
time.^  The  infrequent  experience  of  partial  anosmia,  or 
insensibility  to  smell-stimuli,  also  suggests  that  the  end- 
organs  of  smell  are  differentiated,  for  the  partially  anosmic 
subject  is  sensitive  to  certain  smell-stimuli  and  insensitive 
to  others.  This  is  supposed  to  indicate  that  the  physio- 
logical mechanism  of  smell  has  distinct  parts,  of  which 
one  may  be  impaired  without  injury  to  the  others ;  just 
as  the  phenomena  of  partial  color-blindness  indicate  the 
existence  of  distinct  retinal  structures  or  substances,  corre- 
sponding with  the  different  color-stimuli. 

The  nasal  cavities  are  divided,  one  from  another,  by 
a  wall,  or  septum,  of  bone  and  of  cartilage,  and  the  bony 
portion  of  each  is  partially  divided  within  itself  by  the 
three  turbinate  bones.  Each  nasal  cavity  opens  at  its 
further  end  into  the  pharynx,  and  this  explains,  of  course, 
the  confusion  between  tastes  and  smells,  since  gaseous 
particles  from  the  mouth  cavity  may  enter  the  nostrils  in 
expiration,  and  sapid  particles,  on  the  other  hand,  may 
reach  the  mouth  through  the  nostrils.  The  nasal  cham- 
bers are  lined  in  their  upper  part  with  mucous  membrane 
of  yellowish  color  consisting  of  several  layers  of  cells ; 
with  the  outermost,  or  epithelial,  layer  of  these  cells  the 
branches  of  the  olfactory  nerve  are  connected. 

Zwaardemaker  has  a  very  ingenious  theory  which  sets 
forth  that  the  stimulation  of  different  localities  of  the 
olfactory  region  corresponds  with  smells  of  his  nine  dif- 
ferent classes.  For  example,  the  excitation  of  the  part 
nearest  to  the  pharynx  and  the  reflex  centre  of  coughing 
brings  about,  according  to  his  scheme,  the  nauseating  and 
virulent  smells ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fragrant,  aro- 


1  E.  A.  McC.  C.amlile,  op.  cit.,  p.  7. 

'^  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  59  ;   Titchener,  §  29. 


Physical  Conditions  of  Smell  63 

matic  and  ethereal  smells  are  due  to  the  excitation  of  the 
region  nearest  the  front  of  the  nose  and  the  sneezing 
centre.  There  is  as  yet,  however,  no  direct  proof  of  such 
a  hypothesis.^ 

The  immediate  physiological  condition  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  smell  is,  of  course,  the  excitation  of  cells  in  its 
'  cerebral  centre,'  which  is  part  of  the  temporal  lobe. 
The  human  brain,  as  is  well  known,  is  far  less  developed, 
in  its  olfactory  centres,  than  the  animal  brain.  The  other 
vertebrates  have  distinct  olfactory  lobes  projecting  for- 
ward from  the  hemispheres,  but  these  have  shrunk,  in  the 
human  brain,  to  mere  excrescences  on  the  frontal  lobes. 
Corresponding  with  this  degeneration  of  physiological 
structure  is  the  fact  that  smell  plays  a  far  less  leading 
role  in  the  life  of  men  than  in  that  of  animals.^ 

We  know  little  of  the  physical  conditions  of  smell.  Two 
statements  only  can  be  made  with  any  degree  of  assurance. 
It  is  highly  probable,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  smell-stimu- 
lus is  always  gaseous,  not  liquid  ;  and  it  is  almost  certain 
that  the  property  of  stimulating  the  end-organs  of  smell  is 
a  function  of  the  physical  molecule,  not  of  the  atom,  since 
most  of  the  chemical  elements  are  odorless.  Summing  up 
both  physiological  and  physical  conditions,  we  may  say, 
therefore,  that  certain  gaseous  particles  are  carried  by 
inspiration  into  the  nostrils,  where  they  stimulate  cells 
composing  the  mucous  membrane,  and  that  these  nerve- 
impulses  are  conveyed  by  the  olfactory  nerves  to  the 
temporal  lobe  of  the  brain. 

In  conclusion,  we  may  briefly  compare  smell-sensations 
with  taste-sensations,  and  the  stimuli  and  organs  of  smell 
with  those  of  taste.  We  shall  find  important  likenesses, 
but  marked  differences  also.  Both  smell  and  taste  sensa- 
tions have  a  strong  affective  quality,  that  is  to  say,  they 


^  For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  §  28  ;   cf.  Appendix,  Section  IV. 
2  Cf.  Chapter  XXV.,  p.  359. 


64  Sensations  of  Taste  and  Smell 

are  likely  to  be  distinctly  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  They 
resemble  each  other,  also,  in  function,  for  both  serve  to 
test  the  wholesomeness  of  food.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
dehcacy  of  smell-sensations  is  remarkable,  and  there  may 
be  a  great  number  of  smell-qualities,  whereas  only  four 
qualities  of  taste  are  established.  A  very  small  quantity 
of  odoriferous  material  is  required  to  occasion  a  smell- 
sensation,  but  the  taste-stimulus  is  required  in  comparative 
bulk.  The  organ  of  smell  is  extensive,  is  situated  at  the 
entrance  of  the  respiratory  passages,  and  is  excited  by  a 
stimulus  at  a  distance ;  the  organ  of  taste  cannot  be 
surely  identified,  is  situated  at  the  entrance  of  the  alimen- 
tary canal,  and  is  affected  only  by  objects  which  come 
into  contact  with  it.  And,  finally,  the  brain-centre  of 
smell  is  very  distinct,  but  the  taste-area  is  so  small  or 
so  ill  demarcated  that  anatomists  are  so  far  not  even  sure 
where  it  is. 


CHAPTER   V 

SENSATIONS    OF    PRESSURE,    OF    PAIN   AND    OF 
TEMPERATURE 

I.    The  Sensation  of  Pressure 

"The  famous  town  of  Mansoul,"  said  John  Bunyan, 
"had  five  gates,  in  at  which  to  come,  out  at  which  to 
go.  .  .  .  The  names  of  the  gates  were  these.  Ear-gate, 
Eye-gate,  Mouth-gate,  Nose-gate,  and  Feel-gate."  Every- 
day opinion  agrees  well  with  Bunyan  and  credits  us  with  a 
fifth  sense,  touch,  besides  sight,  hearing,  taste,  and  smell. 
But  long  ago  a  better  observer  than  Bunyan  —  Aristotle, 
first  of  psychologists  —  said  truly,  "  It  is  a  question  whether 
the  sense  of  touch  includes  several  senses  or  whether  it  is 
one  sense  only,  .  .  .  for  .  .  .  the  object  of  touch  presents  us 
with  many  pair  of  opposites  —  such  as  hot  and  cold,  dry  and 
moist,  hard  and  soft,  and  others. ^  "  On  reflection,  we  are 
tolerably  certain  to  take  sides  with  Aristotle.  The  differ- 
ent experiences,  warmth  and  cold,  pressure  and  pain,  which 
result  from  stimulation  of  the  skin,  are  as  radically  different 
from  each  other  as  colors  from  sounds  or  tastes  from  smells. 
Evidently,  therefore,  the  word  '  touch  '  does  not  designate  an 
elemental  consciousness,  but  rather  loosely  covers  a  multi- 
tude of  experiences  which  arise  through  stimulation  of  the 
skin. 

Of  all  the  elemental  experiences  which  the  word  'touch  ' 
implies,  the  fundamental  one  is  that  of  pressure.  A  proof 
of  its  significance  is  the  curious  fact  that  the  reality  of  our 
experience  is  always  put  to  a  pressure-test,  as  we  may  call 

1  "Psychology,"  Book  I.,  Chapter  II.,  §  ii. 
F  65 


66  Sensations  of  Pressure 

it.  Macbeth  clutches  at  the  dagger  to  assure  himself,  by 
touching  it,  whether  or  not  it  is  an  apparition  ;  and  one 
feels  of  an  object  to  know  what  its  shape  '  really '  is. 
Our  first  impression  is,  that  just  as  there  are  several 
distinct  colors  and  several  tastes,  so  also  there  are  many 
varieties  of  pressure.  There  are,  for  example,  the  dis- 
tinctions which  Aristotle  has  noted,  of  hard  and  soft,  wet 
and  dry ;  there  are  other  opposites  of  the  same  sort,  such 
as  rough  and  smooth,  blunt  and  sharp  ;  and  sensational 
elements  of  '  contact '  and  of  '  tickling '  are  sometimes 
added  to  the  list.  But  instead  of  being  pressure-qualities 
and,  therefore,  elements  of  consciousness,  these  experiences 
are  complex  ideas  in  which  the  feeling  of  pressure  is 
prominent.  The  simplest  of  them  is  '  contact,'  which  is 
merely  faint  pressure,  that  is,  pressure-quality  accompanied 
by  a  low  degree  of  pressure-intensity.  '  Sharp'  and  '  blunt,' 
are  terms  applied  to  the  extents,  great  or  small,  of  the  press- 
ure. The  feelings  of  '  smoothness  '  and  '  roughness  '  are 
experiences  of  continued  and  of  interrupted  pressure.  What 
we  call  the  sensation  of  'resistance'  may  be  analyzed  into  an 
experience  of  pressure  and  of  strain,  and  ordinarily  includes 
also  visual  images  of  one's  own  body  and  of  the  resisting 
object.  The  consciousness  of  '  hardness  '  and  of  '  softness  ' 
is  really  the  experience  of  the  varying  intensities  accom- 
panying the  resistance.  The  experience  of  being  tickled 
involves  the  consciousness  of  contact  and  of  motion,  usually 
also  a  temperature  feeling  and  an  affection  of  pleasantness 
or  of  unpleasantness. 

Only  one  alleged  pressure-quality  remains  to  be  ana- 
lyzed. This  is  the  feeling  of  '  wetness,'  which  is  seem- 
ingly the  most  elemental  of  them  all.  At  first  thought,  it 
appears  to  be  immediately  experienced  and  incapable  of 
resolution  into  any  other  factors.  Yet  everybody  knows 
that  it  is  impossible  always  to  be  sure  by  the  mere  '  feeling  ' 
whether  one's  feet  are  wet  or  merely  cold  ;  and  whether  a 
hot  application  has  been  wrung  out  in  water  or  heated 
over  a  fire.     The  idea  of  humidity  is  indeed  very  complex, 


Sensations  of  Pressure  67 

made  up  of  the  sensational  experience  of  temperature, 
either  warm  or  cold,  and  of  the  more  complex  experience 
of  smoothness  —  combined  usually  with  the  visual  image 
of  a  liquid,  and  with  the  consciousness  of  resistance.^ 

In  spite,  therefore,  of  their  brave  showing,  no  one  of  the 
alleged  pressure-qualities  has  survived  the  test  of  at- 
tempted analysis.  Each  of  them  turns  out  to  be  a  more 
or  less  complex  experience,  whose  centre  and  core  is  the 
conscious  element  '  pressure,'  capable,  like  the  element 
'  gray,'  of  ultimate  combination  with  an  indefinite  number 
of  intensities,  but  itself  a  single  quality. 

These  pressure-intensities,  like  taste  and  smell  inten- 
sities, have  no  special  names,  but  are,  nevertheless,  distin- 
guishable from  the  qualities  which  they  accompany,  and 
are,  therefore,  sensational  elements. 

The  sensation  of  pressure,  which  is  a  complex  of  invari- 
ably coalescing  elements,  certainly  includes,  besides  the 
one  pressure-quality  and  any  one  of  the  innumerable  press- 
ure-intensities, still  another  factor,  the  '  pressure-extensity,' 
parallel  with  the  color  or  light  extensity  to  which  we  have 
already  alluded.  The  consideration  of  '  extensities '  is, 
however,  postponed  to  another  chapter. 

The  erroneous  assumption  that  we  have  one  sense  of 
touch  has  arisen,  doubtless,  from  the  supposition  that  the 
skin  as  a  whole  is  the  end-organ  of  touch,  in  the  sense  in 
which,  for  example,  the  retina  is  the  end-organ  of  vision. 
The  truth  is,  however,  that  the  skin  has  many  functions. 
It  protects  the  organs  which  lie  beneath  it;  it  is  of  extreme 
significance  as  an  excretory  organ;  and  it  also  contains 
specific  sensational  end-organs  of  distinct  sorts.  An  experi- 
ment which  may  be  very  simply  carried  out  shows  conclu- 
sively that  the  skin,  though  apparently  sensitive,  as  a  whole, 


^  Cf.  throughout  Titchener,  "Outline  of  Psychology,"  §  i6,  and  Kiilpe,  op, 
cit.,  §  10. 


68  End-organs  of  Pressure 

to  pressure-stimulations,  is  really  merely  the  protector  of 
distinct  and  scattered  end-organs  of  pressure.  If  a  blunted 
bit  of  cork  be  passed  slowly  along  any  portion  of  the  skin, 
the,  wrist,  for  example,  the  subject  of  the  experiment, 
if  his  eyes  be  closed,  may  be  for  several  moments  at  a 
time  unconscious  of  any  pressure.  But  suddenly,  now  and 
again,  as  the  cork  touches  certain  definite  points,  there 
*  flashes  out '  a  distinct  sensation  of  pressure,  evidently 
brought  about  by  the  stimulation  of  a  separate  organ.^ 
These  pressure-spots,  so  called  by  Goldscheider,  their 
discoverer,  are  scattered  all  over  the  surface  of  the  body, 
but  are  more  or  less  closely  grouped  together  in  different 
surfaces.  Minute  experiments  in  which  carefully  graded 
hairs  replace  the  cork  points  of  our  proposed  test,  have 
ascertained  that  at  some  specially  sensitive  points,  as  the 
palm  of  the  hand,  one  hundred  such  pressure-spots  may 
be  found  within  one  square  centimeter.^  Almost  without 
exception,  a  pressure-spot  is  found  at  the  base  of  every 
one  of  the  tiny  hairs  with  which  the  skin  is  overgrown  ; 
but  there  are  also  hairless  regions  of  the  body,  the  palm 
of  the  hand,  for  instance,  which  are  yet  very  sensitive  to 
pressure-stimuli. 

The  exact  structure  of  the  end-organs  of  pressure,  which 
lie  beneath  the  pressure-spots  of  the  skin,  is  not  known. 
No  less  than  four  sorts  of  differentiated  nerve-endings, 
besides  the  hair-bulbs,  have  been  discovered.  All  are  rela- 
tively simple,  '  little  bunches  of  fibrils,'  as  Titchener  calls 
them.  There  is  much  probability -in  von  Frey's  theory  of  two 
types  of  pressure  end-organs,  first,  hair  bulbs,  and  second, 
the  so-called  'tactile  corpuscles,'  found  under  little  Elevations 
of  the  skin  and  penetrated  by  several  nerve-fibres. 

One   very    curious    phenomenon^   connected    with    the 

1  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  21  ;   Titchener,  §  21. 

2  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  V.,  and  von  Frey,  "  Uber  die  Sinnesfunctionen  der 
Menschlichen  Haut,"  Aljhandiung  der  Konigl.  Siichs.  Ges.  der  Wiis.,  Math- 
phys.  Kl.,  XXIII.,  1896,  p.  254. 

2  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanford,  7  ;   Titchener,  §  49. 


E7id-organs  of  Pressure  69 

situation  of  the  pressure  end-organs  is  the  following :  if 
two  points  be  placed  upon  any  surface  of  the  skin,  some 
distance  may  be  found  at  which  they  will  excite  the  con- 
sciousness, not  of  two  pressures,  but  of  a  single  one.  This 
distance  varies  in  different  localities,  and  is  smaller  on  the 
mobile  organs  :  about  one  millimeter,  for  example,  on  the 
tongue,  two  millimeters  on  the  finger-tips,  and  sixty-five 
millimeters  on  the  middle  of  the  back.  These  areas 
within  which  two  points  are  felt  as  one  are  called  '  sensory 
circles,'  and  it  is  important  to  notice  that  they  are  relatively, 
not  absolutely,  defined.  That  is  to  say,  the  skin  is  not 
mapped  off  into  definite  portions,  such  that  a  point  near 
the  edge  of  one  portion  is  felt  as  distinct  from  a  very  near 
point  which,  however,  is  over  the  border  of  the  given 
'sensory  circle.'  On  the  contrary,  the  distance  between 
any  two  points  felt  as  one  must  be  virtually  the  same  in 
neighboring  regions  of  the  skin.  The  physiological  ex- 
planation is  not  yet  definitely  estabUshed.  E.  H.  Weber 
suggested,  years  ago,  that  the  distinction  of  pressure- 
stimuli  as  two  must  be  supposed  to  occur  only  when 
unstimulated  nerve-fibres  intervene  between  the  two  which 
are  excited  ;  and  though  this  state  of  affairs  has  no  known 
physiological  analogy,  yet  no  more  probable  or  adequate 
hypothesis  has  been  proposed. 

It  should  next  be  observed  that  end-organs  of  pressure, 
whatever  their  structure,  are  found,  not  only  in  the  skin 
but  inside  the  body.  Pressure  is  thus  a  sensational  ele- 
ment, excitable  through  internal  as  well  as  through  external 
stimulation.  The  most  important  inner  locahty  of  the 
pressure  end-organs  is  on  the  joint-surfaces.  Anybody 
can  convince  oneself,  by  a  simple  experiment,^  of  the 
sensitiveness  of  these  surfaces.  Let  one  lower  a  weight, 
by  a  string  attached  to  one's  forefinger,  till  it  strikes  floor 
or  table.  At  the  moment  when  it  strikes,  one  experiences 
a  sensation,  evidently  of  pressure,  which  can  only  be  due 

1  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  39,  40. 


JO     The  Physiological  Conditions  of  Pressure 

to  the  backward  movement  of  the  lower  upon  the  upper 
joint-surfaces  of  the  arm. 

Pressure  end-organs  are  not  only  situatecf  on  the  joint- 
surfaces,  but  are  probably,  also,  to  be  found  embedded  in  the 
muscles.^  In  fact,  if  the  skin  be  made  anaesthetic  by  spray- 
ing with  ether,  for  example,  and  if  then  the  muscle  be 
flattened  by  hard  pressure  or  contracted  by  electrical  stimu- 
lation, a  dull  sensation,  whose  quality  is  that  of  pressure,  is 
obtained.  There  is  a  difference,  however,  in  the  intensity 
of  the  pressure-sensations  occasioned  by  these  two  methods. 
Many  experiences  tend  to  prove  that  pressure-sensations 
through  bending  of  the  joints  are  stronger  and  more  readily 
discriminated  than  pressure-sensations  through  muscle-con- 
traction.2  When  the  arm  is  mechanically  lifted,  without 
any  muscular  contraction  at  all,  very  small  differences  of 
pressure  can  be  detected,  and  the  larger  the  joint,  the  smaller 
may  be  the  motion  which  is  noticed.  For  example,  if  one 
lift  the  forearm  of  a  blindfolded  person  through  less  than 
an  angular  degree,  he  will  feel  the  pressure,  which  must 
therefore  be  due  to  the  movement  of  the  lower  on  the 
upper  surface  of  the  elbow-joint.  And  the  accurate  con- 
sciousness which  we  have  of  our  finger-movements  —  a 
pressure-experience,  as  we  shall  later  discover^  —  is  far 
more  likely  due  to  the  movements  of  the  finger  joint-sur- 
faces on  each  other  than  to  the  contraction  of  the  muscles 
which  move  the  fingers,  for  the  muscles  which  do  the  chief 
part  of  this  work  are  not  in  the  fingers  at  all. 

The  cerebral  condition  of  pressure-sensations  is  the  ex- 
citation of  the  area  about  the  fissure  of  Rolando,  and  of 
part  of  the  median  surface  of  the  brain.  This  accords  well 
with  the  fact  that  the  fissure  of  Rolando  is  that  which  first 
appears  in  the  embryonic  brain,  for  the  '  sense  of  touch  '  is 
certainly  earliest  developed  and  must  be  of  special  sig- 
nificance in  the  pre-natal  life.     An  incidental  proof  from 

^  Foster,  "Textbook  on  Psychology,"  Book  III.,  p.  1063. 
2  Foster,  op.  cit.:  James,  op.  ciL,  II.,  p.  197, 
8  Cf.  p.  87. 


Sensalioiis  of  Pain  "ji 

biology,  that  pressure-sensations  are  primitive  experiences, 
is  the  fact  that  all  the  end-organs  are  developed  from  struc- 
tures embedded  in  the  skin,  such  as  the  '  pigment  spots ' 
which  are  the  predecessors  of  eyes,  and  the  '  auditory  pits  ' 
from  which  ears  have  been  developed. ^ 

The  physical  stimulus  of  pressure-sensations,  like  that 
of  sounds  is  mechanical,  and  is  thus  contrasted  with  the 
chemical  stimulus  of  taste,  of  smell  and,  probably  also, 
of  visual  sensations.  To  excite  the  end-organs  of  the  press- 
ure-consciousness, these  mechanical  stimuli  must,  however, 
produce  an  actual  deformation.  This  is  the  reason  why 
one  does  not  feel  even  pressures  over  large  surfaces  except 
at  their  terminal  lines,  so  that  if  the  hand  be  plunged  into 
a  liquid,  the  pressure  will  be  felt  only  where  the  wrist 
emerges.  It  should  be  added  that  the  mechanical  stimulus 
serves  merely  to  initiate  a  change  which  is  probably  chemi- 
cal, in  the  nerve  itself. 

II.    The  Sensations  of  Pain 

The  knife-blade  which,  gently  applied,  excites  a  sensa- 
tional experience  of  pressure,  may  bring  about  also  a  very 
different  sort  of  consciousness,  that  of  pain.  This  is  evi- 
dently distinct  from  all  other  sensation-elements  through 
stimulation  of  the  skin,  and  no  good  observer  confuses  the 
mere  pressure  with  the  painfulness  of  a  heavy  weight,  or 
the  heat  with  the  painfulness  of  a  poultice.  But  it  is,  per- 
haps, less  easy  to  realize  that  painfulness  is  quite  distinct 
also  from  disagreeableness  or  unpleasantness.  Half  the 
experiences  which  we  ordinarily  call  '  painful '  are  probably 
merely  unpleasant.  It  is  unpleasant,  for  example,  but  not 
painful,  to  mistake  an  ice-cream  fork  for  an  oyster  fork  at 
a  dinner-party  ;  the  magenta  of  the  hat  which  obscures  my 
view  in  the  concert  room  is  a  disagreeable,  not  a  painful, 

1  The  eye  is  a  partial  exception,  —  for  the  retina,  the  part  most  significant 
for  vision,  is  in  reality  an  outgrowth  from  the  brain,  not  the  development  of  a 
pigment  spot  in  the  skin.    Cf.  Chapter  XXV.,  and  Appendix,  Section  I.,  I, 


72  Sensations  of  Pain 

color ;  nausea  and  suffocation  are  unpleasant,  not  painful, 
experiences.  The  confusion  is  mainly  due  to  the  fact  that 
sensational  elements  of  pain  are  always  accompanied  by 
unpleasantness,  in  other  words,  that  painful  things  are 
also  unpleasant.  In  the  case  of  apparent  exceptions,  as  of 
slight  pains  which  we  intentionally  inflict  upon  ourselves  to 
see  how  they  will  feel,  the  pleasantness  is  probably  that 
of  the  novelty,  not  of  the  pain.  But  it  does  not  follow  from 
the  fact  that  pains  are  always  unpleasant,  that  unpleasant- 
nesses are  always  painful,  still  less  that  the  two  are  iden- 
tical. Our  first  conclusion,  therefore,  is  that  painfulness, 
an  experience  which  follows  upon  the  burning,  bruising,  or 
cutting  of  the  skin  and  upon  certain  internal  changes,  is 
different  from  unpleasantness  or  disagreeableness. 

In  the  next  place,  we  must  observe  that  there  is  prob- 
ably only  a  single  quality  of  pain-sensation,  just  as  there 
is  only  one  pressure-quality.  That  is,  however  distinct 
the  methods  by  which  it  is  induced,  whether  by  heat  or 
pressure  or  laceration,  pain  is  just  pain,  the  same  inde- 
scribable sensation.  At  first  thought,  this  statement  may 
seem  to  contradict  our  ordinary  experience.  For  we  do 
actually  distinguish  acute,  dull,  stinging,  gnawing,  whirl- 
ing pains,  and  many  others  besides.  The  truth  is,  how- 
ever, that,  carefully  examined,  these  different  sorts  of 
pain  are  distinct  from  each  other,  not  by  any  difference 
in  their  painfulness  or  pain-quality,  but  in  one  of  three 
ways :  they  may  differ  of  course  in  intensity ;  they  may, 
perhaps,  differ  also  in  bigness  or  voluminousness,  for 
some  pains  seem  vaster  and  more  enveloping  than  others ; 
"  they  may  differ  also  in  steadiness,  and  if  unsteady,  they 
may  vary  in  regularity,  and  regular  pains  may  even  vary 
in  their  rhythm.  A  throbbing  headache,  for  example, 
follows  the  pulse-beat,  and  is  very  distinct,  not  only  from 
a  steady  headache  but  from  an  irregular,  stabbing, 
neuralgiac  pain."  ^     Pains,  finally,  may  have  widely  differ- 

1  Quoted  from  manuscript  notes  uf  K.  A.  McC.  Gamble, 


The  Physical  Conditions  of  Pain  y^ 

ent  accompaniments.  They  are  normally  combined  with 
sensations  of  pressure  and  of  warmth  or  of  cold  ;  and  the 
alleged  differences  in  pains  are  most  often  variations  in 
these  other  sensations,  which  accompany  them.  A  sting- 
ing pain,  for  example,  is  a  complex  experience  of  painful- 
ness,  of  warmth  and  of  a  small  extent  of  pressure. 

The  close  connection  of  painfulness  with  pressure-sen- 
sations is  readily  explained  from  the  evolutionary  stand- 
point. Objects  which  come  into  actual  contact  with  an 
organism  are  more  likely  to  be  dangerous  than  those 
which  it  merely  sees  or  hears  from  a  distance.  Animals 
to  whom,  from  spontaneous  variation  of  their  nervous 
organs,  pressures  were  usually  painful,  would  survive  the 
dangers  which  overwhelmed  their  less  highly  organized 
comrades.  The  pecuhar  differentiation  of  their  nervous 
apparatus,  by  which  mechanical  and  thermal  stimuli 
brought  about  pain  as  well  as  pressure  and  temperature 
sensations,  would,,  therefore,  tend  to  be  perpetuated. 

It  will  be  convenient  to  consider,  briefly,  the  physical 
condition  of  pain,  before  discussing  its  physiological  exci- 
tation. We  are  met  at  the  outset  by  a  deviation  from  the 
ordinary  relation.  For  every  other  form  of  sense-quality, 
we  have  found  a  definite,  even  if  vaguely  characterized, 
physical  stimulation.  In  the  case  of  pain,  however,  it  is 
obvious  at  once  that  no  specific  form  of  energy  occasions 
it,  but  that  the  same  stimuli  which  excite  sensations  of 
pressure,  warmth  and  cold,  and  possibly  even  those  which 
excite  visual  and  auditory  sensations,  may  bring  about 
painfulness  also,  if  only  they  are  very  intense,  long  con- 
tinued or  often  repeated.  Hard  or  long-continued  press- 
ure, intense  heat  and  cold,  and,  possibly,  bhnding  lights 
and  crashing  sounds  may  be  called  painful ;  whereas 
excessive  sweetness  and  heavy  fragrance  are  merely 
unpleasant. 

We  have  next  to  ask  for  the  physiological  conditions, 
and  first,  therefore,  for  the  peripheral  or  surface  organs 


74         The  PJiysiological  Conditions  of  Pain 

of  the  pain-sensations.  The  oldest  theory  is  based  on  the 
undoubted  fact  that  pain  follows  on  high  degrees  of 
mechanical  stimulus.  It  teaches  that  there  are  no  specific 
pain-organs,  but  that  the  excessive  functioning  of  other 
end-organs,  especially  those  of  pressure,  condition  pain- 
sensation.  This  teaching,  that  excitation  of  pressure  end- 
organs  may  occasion  pain,  is  disproved  by  the  discovery 
that  certain  anaesthetics  destroy  pain  and  pressure-sensa- 
tion independently  of  each  other,  however  high  the  degree 
of  physical  pressure.  If  the  oculist  treats  one's  eye  with 
cocaine,  one  is  distinctly  conscious  of  the  contact  of  his 
instruments  but  feels  no  pain ;  a  similar  use  of  saponin 
annihilates  pressure-sensations  and  leaves  pain.  Certain 
injuries  to  the  spinal  cord  result  in  a  similar  separation 
of  pain  and  pressure-sensations.  Evidently  then,  pain  is 
not  always  produced  by  the  hypernormal  excitation  of 
pressure  end-organs. 

A  second  theory  holds  that  pain  is  occasioned  only  by 
the  excitation  of  distinct  end-organs  of  pain.  This  view 
is  based  on  the  important  discovery  of  pain-spots  on  the 
skin,  like  the  pressure-spots  already  described.^  These 
pain-spots,  have  not,  however,  up  to  this  time  been  found 
on  all  parts  of  the  body.  In  fact,  careful  experiments  have 
discovered  these  spots,  which  are  sensitive  to  pain  and  not 
to  pressure,  on  no  other  parts  of  the  body  than  the  elbow- 
joints  and  the  membranous  coverings  of  the  eye.  Von 
Frey  explains  this  infrequency  of  the  pain-spots  actually 
discovered,  by  supposing  that  the  pain  end-organs  are  far 
less  easily  excited  than  the  pressure-organs. 

A  third  theory  of  the  physiological  condition  of  pain  is 
especially  worthy  of  attention,  because  it  is  that  of  Gold- 
scheider,  the  discoverer  of  the  pain-spots  on  the  skin.  He 
holds  that  these  '  pain-spots,'  are  not,  as  has  been  sup- 
posed, pain  end-organs,  distinct  from  pressure-organs,  but 
that    they    are    merely    exposed    pressure-organs,    located 

^  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  32 ;  Titchener,  §  22, 


The  Physiological  Conditions  of  Pain         75 

under  an  unusually  thin  part  of  the  epidermis  or  upper 
skin  ;  and  that  pain  is  physiologically  due,  not  to  the  ac- 
tivity of  any  nerve  end-organs  in  the  skin,  but  to  a  trans- 
formation, in  the  gray  substance  of  the  spinal  cord,  of 
nerve-excitations  conveyed  from  these  exposed  pressure 
end-organs.^ 

It  should  be  added  that  pain  is  usually  due  to  conditions 
on  the  surface  of  the  body,  not  inside  it.  "  A  muscle  or 
a  tendon,  the  intestine,  the  liver,  or  the  heart  may  be 
handled,  pinched  or  cauterized,"  Foster  says,^  "  without  any 
pain  or  indeed  any  sensation  being  felt."  This  suggests 
the  view  that  so-called  *  internally  excited  '  sensations  of 
pain,  as  of  warmth  and  of  cold,  are  usually  due  to  the  spread 
of  nerve-excitations  to  end-organs  in  the  skin  ;  and  from  the 
standpoint  of  evolution,  this  infrequency  of  internally  stim- 
ulated pains  is  readily  understood.  All  pain  is  an  exhaust- 
ing experience  and  positively  injurious  to  the  organism  ; 
but  external  pains  serve  as  signals  of  danger,  warning 
animals  from  harmful  food  and  environment.  The  race 
of  animals  with  external  pains  would  tend,  therefore,  to  be 
perpetuated,  in  spite  of  the  harmfulness  of  the  pain  in 
itself ;  but  animals  who  are  internally  sensitive  to  pain 
would  tend  to  die  out,  since  internal  pains  serve  no  use- 
ful purpose  to  offset  their  harmfulness. 

No  definite  brain-centre  has  ever  been  localized  whose 
functioning  is  found  to  condition  pain-sensations  only. 
The  Rolandic  region  has  been,  up  to  this  time,  considered 
as  centre  for  dermal  sensations  of  pressure,  warmth,  cold, 
pain.  What  particular  area  or  special  cortical  layer  within 
this  region  has  to  do  with  pain-sensations  is  not  known. 

A  distinct  treatment  of  '  intensities  '  and  *  extensities  '  of 
pain  would  merely  repeat,  mutatis  mutandis,  what  has 
been  said  of  smells  and  tastes. 


1  Cf.  Goldscheider,  "  Uber  den  Schmerz,"  p.  i8. 
?  "Textbook  of  Physiology,"  Book  III.,  p.  1045. 


^6  Sensations  of  Temperature 

The  most  important  of  these  results  are  included  in  the 
following  summary :  we  have  unanalyzable  experiences 
of  pain  and  pain-intensity,  usually  accompanying  other 
sensations,  especially  those  of  pressure,  and  invariably 
accompanied  by  unpleasantness,  yet  perfectly  distinct 
from  both.  These  have  no  definite  physical  stimulus  but 
are  usually  or  always  conditioned  by  the  extreme  inten- 
sities of  mechanical  and  thermal  stimuli.  They  are  physi- 
ologically caused  by  the  activity  of  cerebral  centres  (prob- 
ably of  the  Rolandic  region)  originally  set  up  either  by 
the  functioning  of  special  nerves  and  end-organs,  or  by 
some  more  central  process,  very  likely  in  the  gray  sub- 
stance of  the  spinal  cord. 

III.    Sensations  of  Temperature 

We  all  know  what  it  is  to  be  warm  and  to  be  cold,  and 
reflection  will  convince  us  that  warmth  and  cold  are  dis- 
tinct, unanalyzable  experiences,  and,  therefore,  elements  of 
consciousness.  They  are  distinct,  in  the  first  place,  from 
pressure  and  from  pain,  though  often  combined  with  each. 
For  instance,  I  am  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  the  press- 
ure and  of  the  warmth  of  a  warm  poultice,  but  the  warmth 
is  an  experience  quite  distinct  from  that  of  pressure.  The 
sensational  qualities,  warmth  and  cold,  are  also  quite  dis- 
tinct from  each  other,  so  that  it  is  really  misleading, 
though  convenient,  to  group  them  together  as  sensational 
elements  of  temperature. 

The  nature  of  the  experience  which  we  know  as  hotness 
is  far  harder  to  determine.  Three  opinions  have  been  held. 
It  has  been  taught  by  most  psychologists  that  hotness  is 
simply  warmth,  combined  with  a  high  degree  of  warmth- 
intensity.  But  introspection  opposes  this  conclusion  ;  there 
is  a  qualitative  difference,  for  example,  in  the  feeling  of  a 
red-hot  stove  and  the  feeling  of  a  rock  warmed  by  the  sun. 
It  is  sometimes,  therefore,  held  that  hotness  is  a  complex 
experience  including  feelings  of  warmth  and  of  pain.     But 


Physical  Conditions  of  Temperature-sensation     77 

though  it  is  certain  that  hot  objects  are  often  also  painful, 
it  is  probable  that  the  feeling  of  hotness  is  distinct  from  that 
of  pain.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  we  conclude  that  hotness 
is  a  distinct  and  simple  sensational  element,  although,  as  we 
shall  see,  its  physiological  condition  is  complex.^ 

Warmth,  cold  and  heat  intensities  demand  no  special 
treatment.  There  is  no  reason  to  deny  their  elemental 
quality  and  their  capacity  for  direct  serial  arrangement. 
There  is  perhaps,  also,  voluminousness,  or  bigness,  of 
temperature  experiences. 

No  direct  relation  can  be  discovered  between  the  degree 
of  the  thermometer  and  the  cold  or  warmth  or  heat  sensa- 
tion. In  other  words,  we  are  not  always  warm  when  the 
thermometer  registers  a  high  degree  and  cold  when  it 
stands  at  a  low  figure.  On  the  contrary,  the  room  which 
seems  warm  to  me  as  I  enter  it  after  a  brisk  walk  seems 
chilly  an  hour  later,  though  the  height  of  the  mercury  is 
unchanged  ;  and  if  I  warm  one  hand  and  cool  another  the 
same  lukewarm  water  will  seem  cool  to  the  first  and  warm 
to  the  second.^  These  experiences,  and  others  like  them, 
clearly  show  that  the  sensation  of  warmth  or  of  cold  or  of 
heat  is  not  determined  by  the  actual  temperature  of  the 
body,  but  by  the  relation  between  the  temperature  of  the 
body  and  that  of  its  environment.  When  these  two  are 
identical,  however  high  or  low,  the  bodily  temperature  is 
described  as  that  of  the  physiological  zero,  and  there  is 
no  sensation  either  of  warmth  or  of  cold.  When  the 
physical  temperature  of  the  body  exceeds  that  of  its  envi- 
ronment, the  sensation  is  of  cold,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
when  the  temperature  falls  below  that  of  the  environment, 
one  has  the  experience  of  warmth,  changing  —  as  we  have 
seen  —  at  a  certain  point  to  that  of  heat.  The  physio- 
logical conditions  of  this  sensational  element,  hotness,  are 
complex,  as  will  be  shown  later. 

1  Cf.  p.  78. 

'•^  For  experiments,  cf.  SanforJ,  iS  ;   Titchener,  p.  53,  last  paragraph. 


"j^        End-organs  of  Temperature-sensations 

The  thermal  stimulation  of  the  skin  is  occasioned  in  two 
ways :  by  radiation  of  heat  from  outer  objects  and  by  mus- 
cular activity,  which  means  loss  of  energy  in  the  form  of 
heat.  I  may  grow  warm,  for  example,  by  basking  in  the 
sun,  or  by  swinging  dumb-bells.  Not  the  skin  as  a  whole, 
however,  but  certain  definite  end-organs  are  affected.  This 
is  shown  by  applying  warm  and  cold  surfaces  of  very  small 
extent  to  different  parts  of  the  body.  A  bit  of  metal  may 
be  moved  along  for  some  little  distance  on  the  surface  of 
the  body,  without  rousing  the  experience  of  cold,  which, 
however,  will  suddenly  occur  as  the  stimulus  reaches  one 
of  the  '  cold  spots  '  over  an  end-organ  of  cold.^  There  are 
fewer  of  these  than  of  the  pressure  or  pain  end-organs, 
and  the  organs  of  warmth  are  least  frequent  of  all,  and 
most  scattered.  The  cornea  of  the  eye  is  sensitive  to  cold, 
but  not  to  pressure,  and  both  warmth  and  cold  end-organs 
are  found  within  the  mouth-cavity  where  no  '  pain  spots ' 
have  been  discovered.  Most  of  the  inner  surfaces  of  the 
body,  however,  are  without  these  warmth  and  cold  organs, 
so  that  internal  sensations  of  'cold,'  'warm'  and  'hot,' 
though  locaUzed  within  the  body,  are  usually  due  to  out- 
ward radiation  of  cold  or  heat  and  to  stimulation  of  the 
end-organs  in  the  outer  skin.  Even  the  mucous  lining  of 
the  mouth-cavity  is  less  sensitive  than  the  outer  skin,  so 
that  one  may  drink,  with  perfect  comfort,  coffee  which 
seems  unbearably  hot  if  it  touches  the  lip. 

It  has  been  indicated  by  experiment  ^  that  sensations  of 
hotness  are  conditioned  by  the  simultaneous  functioning 
of  end-organs  both  of  warmth  and  of  cold.  The  most 
important  reasons  for  this  conclusion  are  the  following  : 
(i)  If  an  area  of  the  skin  be  stimulated  containing  warm 
spots,  but  no  cold  spots,  no  feelings  of  hotness,  but  only 
feelings  of  warmth  and  of  pain  result,  however  hot  the 
stimulating  object.  If  (2)  a  region  of  the  skin,  that  of  the 
upper  forehead  for  instance,  which  contains  cold  spots  and 

1  For  experiment,  of.  Sanford,  13  ;   Titchener,  §  19. 

2  Cf.  S.  Alrutz,  Miiui,  N.  S.  VI.,  445  seq. ;  VII.,  141  seq. 


Sensations  of  Temperature  79 

a  very  few  warm  spots,  be  tested  with  a  series  of  points 
graduated  from  cold  to  hot,  sensations  of  cold,  of  slight 
warmth,  and  then  at  once  of  hotness  are  obtained,  with  no 
intermediate  sensations  of  extreme  warmth. 

The  structure  of  these  end-organs  is  not  deiinitely  deter- 
mined, but  von  Frey  may  be  correct  in  his  theory  that  the 
so-called  end-bulbs  of  Krause,  found  in  most  parts  of  the 
outer  skin,  on  the  cornea  and  in  the  mouth,  are  end-organs 
of  '  cold,'  and  that  certain  deep-lying  cells,  recently  dis- 
covered by  Ruffini  are  warmth  end-organs. ^  The  cerebral 
locality  whose  excitation  is  the  immediate  physiological 
cause  of  warmth  and  cold  sensations  is,  so  far  as  discov- 
ered, the  Rolandic  region. 

To  recapitulate  therefore  :  we  have  distinct  sensational 
elements  of  cold,  warmth  and  hotness ;  of  cold-intensity, 
warmth-intensity  and  heat-intensity ;  and  perhaps  a  paral- 
lel series  of  sensational  elements  of  voluminousness.  The 
physical  conditions  of  these  sense-elements  are  modifica- 
tions of  a  thermal  stimulus.  The -physiological  conditions 
are  primarily  the  excitations  of  end-organs  (i)  of  cold, 
(2)  of  warmth  or  (3)  both  of  cold  and  of  warmth.  These 
end-organs  are  situated  mainly  in  the  skin  ;  their  excitation 
depends  on  the  temperature  of  the  body  relative  to  that 
of  its  environment;  their  excitation,  by  way  of  ingoing 
nerves,  occasions  the  activity  of  cerebral  cells,  probably  in 
the  Rolandic  area  ;  and  this  cerebral  activity  is  the  im- 
mediate condition  of  the  feelings  of  cold,  warmth  and 
hotness. 

^  Cf.  throughout,  Ma\  von  Frey,  "  Beitrage  zur  Sinnesphysiologie  der 
Haut,"  Berichte  der  Gesellsch.,  d.  Wissenschaft,  zu  Leipsic,  Math-Phys. 
Kl.,  1894-95,  PP-  165  seq. 


CHAPTER   VI 

SENSATIONS    FROM    INTERNAL    EXCITATION    AND   THE 
CONSCIOUSNESS    OF   MOTION 

I.    Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation 

We  have  found  that  pressure  and  pain  sensations,  and, 
on  a  more  limited  area,  sensations  of  warmth  and  cold,  are 
excitable  not  merely  by  the  stimulation  of  organs  on  the 
outer  surface,  but  by  the  excitation  also  of  end-organs 
within  the  body.  There  are  still  to  be  considered  certain 
alleged  sensations  whose  excitation  is  invariably  internal. 

a.     SENSATIONS    OF    STRAIN 

The  first  of  these  is  the  sensation  of  strain.  It  is  occa- 
sioned by  lifting  weights  and  by  assuming  rigid  bodily 
attitudes.  A  simple  way  to  excite  it,  for  example,  is  to 
clench  the  hand  firmly  but  in  such  wise  that  its  surfaces 
do  not  touch  each  other.  No  external  pressure  can  then 
be  felt,  but  the  resulting  experience  is  said  to  include,  not 
only  a  weak  sensation  of  pressure  from  the  moving  of  the 
surfaces  of  the  finger-joints  on  each  other,  but  also  a  new 
and  elemental  experience,  that  of  strain.  There  is  no 
doubt,  of  course,  about  the  existence  of  this  consciousness 
of  strain  ;  but  it  is  not  so  certain  that  it  is  really  a  sensa- 
tional experience  and  not  rather  a  combination  of  pressure 
and  of  pain.  The  writer  of  this  book  is  unable,  in  fact,  to 
decide  between  these  two  hypotheses,  vibrating  between 
the  view  that  strain  is  an  elemental  experience  and  the 
theory  that  it  is  a   complex    experience,    analyzable   into 

80 


Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation  8 1 

pressure  and  pain  sensations  ;  in  either  case  it  may  be 
accompanied  by  any  one  of  an  indefinite  number  of  inten- 
sities. 

A  simple  experiment  ^  will  show  that  this  strain-experi- 
ence, whether  elemental  or  complex,  is  due  to  stimulation 
of  the  tendons,  that  is,  the  fibrous  cords  which  connect 
muscles  with  bones.  If  one's  arm  be  drawn  down  by  a 
heavy  weight  attached  to  one  of  the  fingers,  strain-sensa- 
tions are  felt.  But  the  weighting  of  the  arm  prevents 
either  muscular  contraction  or  pressure  of  the  joint-sur- 
faces. The  only  change,  therefore,  which  the  weight  can 
effect  in  the  arm  is  the  excitation  of  its  tendons.  The 
cerebral'  centre  of  the  strain-sensations  is  the  Rolandic 
area. 

b.     ALLEGED    SENSATIONS    OF    POSITION 

The  experiences  next  to  be  discussed  are  more  obviously, 
in  the  wq-iter's  opinion,  complex,  not  elemental.  Both  are 
due  to  excitations  of  the  semicircular  canals.  The  first  of 
them  is  the  alleged  static  sense  of  consciousness  of  the 
body's  position. 

I  unquestionably  possess  in  my  normal  waking  life  a 
consciousness  of  my  position.  I  know  whether  I  am 
standing  or  lying  down,  whether  my  head  is  straight  or 
tilted,  whether  my  body  is  inclined  to  right  or  to  left. 
More  than  this,  I  am  constantly  making  little  compensa- 
tory movements  forward  or  back,  right  or  left,  to  preserve 
the  balance  of  my  body  when  its  position  changes.  I 
ordinarily  reflect  little  on  the  consciousness  of  bodily  posi- 
tion, and  I  may  be  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  movements 
which  I  make  to  keep  my  balance,  but  whenever  these  are 
checked  —  for  example,  on  first  trying  to  walk  after  a  long 
illness —  I  discover  myself  staggering  and  falling  for  want 
of  these  quick,  recovering  movements.  Before  discussing 
the  consciousness  of  position,  we  shall,  therefore,  consider 

^Cf.  Titchener,  §  31,  p.  87,  Exercise  (i). 


82  Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation 

the  origin  of  these  compensatory  movements.  We  shall 
later  show  that  the  two  phenomena,  psychical  and  physio- 
logical, are  often  confused,  that  is,  that  the  consciousness 
of  bodily  position  is  often  argued  from  the  mere  observa- 
tion of  the  bodily  movements.  These  compensatory 
movements  are  probably  excited  in  the  following  way : 
end-organs  in  the  semicircular  canals  of  the  ear  are  stimu- 
lated, and  these  nervous  impulses  are  conveyed  to  the  cere- 
bellum, which  is  a  brain-centre  for  the  motor  nerves  whose 
excitation  causes  the  balancing  movements  of  the  body. 
This  summary  statement  must  now  be  expanded.  The 
semicircular  canals  are  organs  within  the  ear,  separated 
from  the  cochlea  by  the  vestibule,  a  rounded,  bony  envelope, 
containing  two  small,  membranous  bags.  The  canals  them- 
selves consist  of  mem- 
branous tubes  each  com- 
pleting nearly  a  circle. 
Each  canal  is  enclosed 
in  a  bony  sheath,  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  liquid  (the 
,  ,    .         ,  perilymph)  and  is  filled 

Fig.   8.  —  Diagram  (schematic)  of  the  mternal  ^-^       ^      ' 

ear,  in  longiiudinal  section,     a,  semieircular  With     a     liqUlCl     (the     Cn- 

canals;    b,    cochlea;   c,  basilar   membrane;  dolymph).         The      bouy 
d,  vestibule.  i  ,•11  1 

canals,  vestibules  and 
cochlea  together  form  a  continuous  body,  lying  in  a  spongy 
portion  of  the  temporal  bone.  The  canals  are  at  right 
angles  to  each  other,  one  of  them  lies  horizontally,  a 
second  curves  from  front  to  back  and  the  third  runs  from 
right  to  left.  Each  opens  into  the  vestibule  and  termi- 
nates at  one  end  in  a  sort  of  swelling  or  dilation  called  an 
ampulla.  A  branch  of  the  auditory  nerve  penetrates  each 
of  these  ampullae  and  the  vestibule  as  well,  ending  in  cells 
from  which  hairs  project ;  and  in  the  vestibule,  at  least, 
there  are  small  hard  substances,  the  ear  stones  or  otoliths. 
The  essential  feature  of  the  apparatus  is  its  extreme  sensi- 
tiveness to  changes  of  bodily  position.  The  slightest  move- 
ment which  tends  to  unbalance  the  body  must  alter  the 


Alleged  Sensations  of  Position  83 

position  of  the  semicircular  canals,  and  thus  put  in  motion 
the  endolymph.  This  movement,  with  or  without  the 
additional  pressure  of  an  otolith,  bends  the  hairs  of  the 
ampullae  and  stimulates  the  vestibular  section  of  the  acous- 
tic nerve,  and  this  excitation  reaches  the  cerebellum,  which 
is,  as  has  been  said,  the  nerve-centre  for  the  movements 
affecting  bodily  equilibrium.  Actual  experiments  show 
the  connection  of  these  organs  with  the  preservation  of 
balance.  Animals  deprived  either  of  cerebellum  or  of  semi- 
circular canals  stagger  and  fall  about  in  an  unbalanced  and 
helpless  way  ;  and  deaf  people  whose  semicircular  canals 
are  injured  cannot  preserve  their  equilibrium,  if  they  are 
bHndfolded  and  therefore  unable  to  regulate  their  move- 
ments by  the  visual  perceptions  of  bodily  position. 

If  we  now  carefully  consider  what  has  so  far  been  estab- 
lished, we  find  this  result :  the  movements  which  keep  the 
body  balanced  are  due  ( i )  to  the  disturbance  of  the  posi- 
tion of  semicircular  canals  and  the  consequent  pressure 
of  endolymph  on  nerve-endings,  (2)  to  the  excitation  of 
motor-centres  in  the  cerebellum,  (3)  and  finally,  to  the  ex- 
citation of  outgoing,  or  motor,  nerves  and  the  muscular 
contractions  which  preserve  the  balance.  We  have  thus 
discovered  the  origin  of  the  balancing  movements  of  the 
body.  Undoubtedly  they  are  initially  due  to  excitation 
of  the  semicircular  canals.  But  this  is  no  foundation  for 
the  statement  of  certain  psychologists,  that  there  are  '  sen- 
sations of  bodily  position  '  whose  organs  are  within  the 
semicircular  canals.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  exam- 
ine introspectively  the  nature  of  our  consciousness  of  bodily 
position,  we  shall  almost  certainly  find  it  made  up  of  press- 
ure and  of  strain  experiences.  The  latter  are  mainly  due 
to  bodily  rigidities  and  to  cramped  attitudes.  The  pressure- 
sensations  are  from  two  distinct  sources  :  first,  from  ex- 
ternal stimulus,  as  when  one  is  conscious  of  the  pressure 
of  the  foot  to  the  floor,  of  the  body  to  the  chair  and  of  the 
skin  more  tightly  drawn  over  a  moving  hand  ;  and  second, 
from  internal  movements,  of  the  joint-surfaces,  for  example, 


84  Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation 

of  shoulder  and  elbow  joints  upon  each  other.  The 
most  careful  analysis  fails  to  find  more  than  this  in  our 
consciousness  of  position,  and  we  are  forced,  therefore,  to 
deny  that  there  is  any  static  sense,  any  elemental  sensation 
of  position. 

C.     ALLEGED    SENSATIONS    OF    DIZZINESS 

To  the  excitation  of  semicircular  canals  still  another 
sensation  is  referred,  that  of  dizziness.  What  is  known  as 
dizziness  is  probably  either  a  complex  experience  or  a  mere 
pressure-sensation.  It  includes,  or  is  closely  accompanied 
by,  moving  visual  images  of  objects  and  figures  rotating 
slowly,  or  slipping  and  swimming  about  in  one's  field  of 
vision.  It  is  furthermore,  sometimes,  though  by  no  means 
invariably,  accompanied  by  the  feeUng  of  nausea.  For  the 
rest,  it  seems  to  consist  of  a  pressure-sensation  '  located ' 
within  the  head. 

No  definite  physiological  cause  of  dizziness  can  be  as- 
signed. It  is  often,  as  has  been  said,  explained  by  semi- 
circular canal-excitation,  and  certainly  the  loss  of  balance 
is  its  most  frequent  cause.  Deaf-mutes,  whose  semicircu- 
lar canals  are  affected,  may  therefore  lose  their  equi- 
librium without  being  giddy.  But  the  loss  of  balance  and 
the  consequent  pressure  of  the  liquid  in  the  canals  is  not 
sufficient  explanation  of  dizziness,  which  occurs  sometimes 
when  the  head  and  the  whole  body  are  unmoved.  On  the 
whole,  therefore,  we  are  not  able  to  assign  to  it  a  definite 
bodily  cause,  though  it  probably  is  a  pressure-sensation  due 
to  some  stimulation  within  the  head. 

d.     ALLEGED    '  ORGANIC  '    SENSATIONS    FROM    INTERNAL 

STIMULUS 

Certain  alleged  sensational  qualities,  due  to  internal 
and  not  to  external  stimulation,  still  remain  open  to  dis- 
cussion.   Among  them  are  ( i )  the  so-called  sensations  from 


Sensatio7is  from  Internal  Excitation         85 

the  alimentary  canal,  hunger,  thirst,  nausea,  and  (2)  the 
so-called  circulatory  and  respiratory  sensations.  Carefully 
analyzed,  however,  each  of  these,  in  the  writer's  opinion, 
will  disclose  itself  as  a  complex  experience,  and  not,  in  any 
sense,  a  simple  feeling.  Thirst,  for  example,  is  a  complex 
of  pressure  and  warmth  sensations  ;  it  is  due  to  a  drying 
of  the  mucous  membrane  of  the  mouth-cavity,  which  be- 
comes a  poorer  conductor  of  warmth.  The  chief  element 
in  hunger,  also,  is  probably  that  of  pressure,  brought  about 
by  some  chemical  action  on  the  lining  of  the  stomach. 
What  is  called  nausea  is  a  still  more  complex  experience, 
but  its  essential  ingredient  is  pressure,  due  to  the  anti- 
peristaltic reflexes  of  the  oesophagus. 

The  alleged  respiratory  sensations,  such  as  breathless- 
ness,  suffocation  and  stuffiness,  are  evidently  experiences 
including  several  elements  :  first,  and  most  important,  press- 
ure-sensations ;  often  also,  sensations  of  strain,  as  when 
one  holds  one's  breath  ;  and,  finally,  for  most  people,  a 
visual  image  of  the  part  of  the  body  —  chest  or  throat  — 
which  is  affected.  The  'circulatory'  sensations  are  either, 
like  itching  and  feverishness,  compounds  of  warmth  and 
pressure-sensations,  or  else  they  are  the  massive  pressure- 
sensations  from  difficult  breathing  or  from  abnormally 
strong  heart-beat. 

These  *  organic '  experiences,  though  seldom  attended 
to,  are  nevertheless  of  great  significance,  for  they  may 
form  part  of  our  most  complex  ideas  and  moods.  Emo- 
tions are,  as  we  shall  see,  especially  rich  in  '  organic 
sensations.'  When,  for  example,  I  am  afraid,  my  heart 
flutters ;  when  I  am  grieved,  my  throat  is  choked  ;  when  I 
am  perplexed,  there  is  a  weight  on  my  chest.  And  though 
I  concern  myself  Httle  with  these  seemingly  unimportant 
experiences,  they  none  the  less  effectively  color  my  moods.^ 

We  have  thus  examined  four  sorts  of  alleged  sensation 
from  internal  stimulus.     But  with  one  possible  exception, 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XX.,  p.  286  seq. 


86  Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation 

the  sensation  of  strain,  these  have  resolved  themselves 
into  complex  experiences,  mainly  of  pressure.  Our  impor- 
tant results  are,  therefore,  two  :  we  have  found  a  proba- 
bility that  pressure  end-organs  of  some  sort  are  situated 
in  certain  unexpected  bodily  localities.  Not  merely  the 
mechanical  stimulation  of  skin,  joint-surfaces,  and  volun- 
tary muscles,  but  that  of  the  alimentary  canal  and  perhaps, 
also,  that  of  the  tendons,  results  in  pressure-sensations.  We 
have  found,  also,  that  these  pressure-sensations  from  inter- 
nal excitation  form,  not  only  an  important  part  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  our  bodies,  but  a  constant  though  unnoticed 
feature  of  all  types  of  experience. 

II.   The  Consciousness  of  Motion 

So  much  is  made,  in  these  days,  of  what  has  been  called 
the  '  motor '  consciousness,  that  it  is  well  to  devote  a  brief 
section  to  the  study  of  it.^  We  must  begin  by  distinguish- 
ing two  experiences :  the  consciousness  of  bodily  move- 
ments, of  head  or  limbs  or  trunk ;  and  the  consciousness 
of  motions  on  the  surface  of  the  body,  like  that,  for  exam- 
ple, of  an  ant  crawUng  slowly  over  the  forehead  or  the 
wrist.  We  are  mainly  concerned  with  the  consciousness 
of  movements  of  the  body. 

The  mobility  of  the  human  body  is  its  most  obvious  char- 
acteristic. Movements  of  the  Hmbs  and  fingers,  and  of 
jaws,  nostrils  and  eyeballs  are  constant  during  one's  wak- 
ing hours ;  and  others,  such  as  the  movements  of  lungs 
and  diaphragm  and  the  rhythmic  contractions  of  heart  and 
arteries,  are  normally  continuous  throughout  life.  Only 
the  effort  to  control  these  movements,  to  fix  the  eyes,  to 
compose  the  hands  or  to  hold  the  breath,  makes  clear  to  us 
the  utter  restlessness  of  our  bodies.  The  psychologist  is 
interested  in  bodily  movement  from  several  points  of  view. 
Even  if  the  movement  is  unconscious,  it  is  inevitably  either 

1  For  fuller  treatment,  cf.  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  493,  seq. 


The  Consciousness  of  Motion  Z'] 

the  antecedent,  the  accompaniment  or  the  consequent  of 
particular  facts  of  consciousness,  and  it  is,  therefore,  useful 
in  the  explanation  and  classification  of  these  psychic  facts. 
We  are  here  concerned,  however,  with  the  direct  conscious- 
ness of  bodily  movements.  One  important  school  of  psy- 
chologists has  held  that  it  is  a  sensational,  that  is,  a  distinct 
and  unanalyzable  experience.  But  careful  analysis  of  any 
experience  of  the  moving  body,  the  consciousness,  for  ex- 
ample, with  eyes  closed,  of  a  moving  arm,  will  convince 
any  one  that  it  is  a  very  complex  idea,  involving  some  or 
all  of  the  following  factors:  (i)the  visual  images  of  the 
appearance  of  the  arm  in  successive  positions,  (2)  the  sen- 
sations of  pressure  of  the  surfaces  of  the  joints  against 
each  other,  (3)  the  vague  sensations  of  pressure  from  the 
contraction  of  voluntary  muscles,  (4)  the  sensation  of  press- 
ure from  contraction  of  the  sympathetic  and  involuntary 
muscles,  (5)  the  experience  of  dizziness.  And  of  all  these 
constituents  of  the  idea  of  the  body's  movement,  the  sensa- 
tions of  pressure  through  movements  of  the  joints  are  doubt- 
less the  most  important.  James  says  truly  that  "  no  more 
favorable  conditions  could  be  possible  for  the  delicate  call- 
ing of  the  sensibility  into  play  than  are  realized  in  the 
minutely  graduated  rotations  and  firmly  resisted  variations 
of  pressure  involved  in  every  act  of  extension  or  flexion."  ^ 
The  consciousness,  not  of  movements  of  the  body,  but 
of  motions  on  its  surface,  may  be  even  more  briefly  con- 
sidered. It  consists  essentially  in  the  consciousness  of 
successive  positions.  My  experience,  for  example,  of  a 
pencil  point  drawn  slowly  over  my  cheek,  as  I  sit  with 
eyes  closed,  is  a  consciousness  of  the  object  as  first  near 
my  hair,  then  closer  to  my  ear,  then  approaching  my  chin. 
We  are  not  yet  prepared  for  the  thorough  analysis  of  this 
consciousness  of  successive  positions.  Evidently,  however, 
it  requires  that  at  the  moment  when  one  point  of  my  skin 
is  stimulated,  I  retain  the  image  of   a  previous   stimula- 

1  op.  cit,,  II.,  191. 


88  The  Consciotisness  of  Alotion 

tion.  And  evidently  this  is  no  simple  sensational  experience 
but  a  very  complex  one,  including,  as  it  does,  the  conscious- 
ness of  position  and  of  succession,  besides  purely  tactual 
and  often  visual  sensations. 

Our  most  important  result  is,  therefore,  negative:  the 
failure  to  discover  any  'motor  sensations.'  The  conscious- 
ness of  bodily  movements  has  been  shown  to  be  a  com- 
plex experience  mainly  of  pressure,  and  the  consciousness 
of  surface-motions  is  at  least  equally  complex. 


C 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  CONSCIOUSNESS  OF  EXTENSITY 

I.    The  Elemental  Consciousness  of  Extensity 

a.    visual  extensity 

Every  color  has  a  certain  bigness  or  extensity.  The 
discussion  of  the  nature  of  this  experience  involves  great 
difficulty  :  we  have  already  dodged  the  problem  at  several 
points  of  our  study,  but  it  definitely  confronts  us  now.  Its 
most  natural  solution  treats  extensity  as  a  sensational  ele- 
ment of  consciousness,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  an  unana- 
lyzable  experience  quite  distinct  from  every  other.  In  the 
words  of  James,  it  is  "  an  element  in  each  sensation,  just  as 
intensity  is.  That,  every  one  will  admit  to  be  a  distinguish- 
able though  not  separable  ingredient.  ...  In  like  man- 
ner, extensity  being  an  entirely  peculiar  kind  of  feeling, 
indescribable  except  in  terms  of  itself,  and  inseparable  in 
actual  experience  from  some  sensational  quality  which  it 
must  accompany,  can  itself  receive  no  other  name  than 
that  of  sensational  element."  ^ 

This  testimony  of  introspection  to  the  elemental  nature 
of  extensity  has,  however,  been  challenged  by  acute  and 
learned  psychologists.^  Their  position  has,  therefore,  to 
be  carefully  considered.  They  point  out  that  no  definite 
physical  and  physiological  conditions  of  the  extensity  con- 
sciousness have  ever  been  discovered.  The  lack  of  a  corre- 
sponding form  of  physical  energy  is  common,  to  be  sure, 

1  op.  cit.,  11. ,  p.  136. 

2  Among  these  may  be  named  the  English  psychologists,  Mill,  Bain  and 
Spencer,  and  the  German  writers  Helmholtz  and  Wundt.  The  sensational 
theory  is  supported  by  James,  Ward,  Stumpf,  Hering  and  others.  Cf.  Bib- 
liography. 

89 


90         Elemental  Conscioust..       of  Extensity 

to  several  admitted  forms  of  sensational  element,  and  is 
comparatively  unimportant,  since  the  physical  is  never  the 
immediate  explanation  of  the  psychical.  But  there  is  no 
instance,  it  is  argued,  of  sensational  element  without  corre- 
sponding physiological  end-organs  ;  and  no  organs  of  visual 
extensity  have  ever  been  discovered  in  the  retina.  The 
natural  conclusion,  it  is  urged,  is  that  the  consciousness  of 
visual  extensity  must  be  unsensational. 

The  opponents  of  the  sensational  theory  endeavor,  also, 
to  undermine,  at  its  foundation,  the  value  of  the  introspec- 
tive observation.  The  naive,  unverified  consciousness,  they 
observe,  is  notoriously  untrustworthy  in  its  discovery  of 
conscious  elements.  Experiences  such  as  alleged  sensa- 
tions of  wetness  and  of  tickling,  which  it  unhesitatingly 
labels  as  simple,  turn  out  to  be  highly  complex.  The  fact 
that  extensity  seems  to  introspection  an  unanalyzable 
sensational  experience  proves  only,  therefore,  that  the 
elements  of  which  it  is  made  up  so  invariably  accompany 
each  other,  that  they  are  no  longer  noticed  separately. 
Positively,  therefore,  this  'empirical'  theory  of  extensity, 
appeahng  to  our  trained  and  attentive  introspection,  teaches 
in  opposition  to  the  '  sensational '  theory,  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  visual  extensity  is  a  complex  experience, 
made  up  of  a  combination  of  the  sensations  resulting  from 
the  movement  of  the  eye-muscles.  According  to  this  em- 
pirical or  motor  theory,  my  idea,  for  example,  of  the  exten- 
sity of  the  paper  on  which  I  write,  is  composed  of  the 
sensations  of  pressure  which  I  gain  from  the  moving  of 
my  eyeballs  as  I  glance,  involuntarily,  from  top  to  bottom 
and  from  right  to  left  of  the  sheet,  and  my  idea  of  the 
extensity  of  my  watch  is  the  complex  of  sensations  due 
to  the  sweep  of  my  eye-muscles,  actual  or  imagined,  as  I 
follow  its  curved  outline.  The  fact  that  our  extensity- 
consciousness  is  mainly,  at  least,  visual  or  tactual,  fol- 
lows naturally,  it  is  argued,^  on  this  hypothesis,  from  the 
peculiar  mobility  of  eyeball  and  of  hand. 

1  Cf.  Spencer,  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II.,  Pt.  VI.,  Chapter  14, 
pp. 196-197. 


Visif^lP'  Exteiisiiy  9 1 

Let  us  now,  however,  examine  critically  the  arguments 
which  oppose  the  sensational  theory  and  which  indirectly, 
therefore,  support  the  empirical  or  motor  hypothesis.  In 
the  first  place,  the  sensationalist  may  reject  the  implication 
that  assignable  physiological  end-organs  are  the  condition 
^sine  qua  iion  of  sensational  elements.  Admitting,  from 
analogy,  the  probability  that  sensational  elements  are  so 
distinguished,  he  will  nevertheless  insist  that  their  only 
essential  criteria  are  (i)  observed  distinctness  and  (2)  the 
fact  that  they  are  not  analyzable.  It  is  quite  unnecessary, 
however,  to  concede  to  the  empiricist  that  no  physiologi- 
cal differentiation  corresponds  with  the  experience  of  ex- 
tensity.  We  know  very  httle  of  the  membranous  structure 
and  muscular  processes  of  the  eye,  and  we  are  ignorant, 
above  all,  of  the  cerebral  areas  and  modes  of  activity 
which  are  immediate  conditions  of  psychical  facts.  There 
may,  therefore,  be  physiological  structures  and  functions, 
as  yet  unobserved,  which  specifically  correspond  with  the 
extensity  consciousness.  For  example,  it  is  conceivable, 
as  has  been  suggested,  that  visual  extensity  is  physio- 
logically conditioned  by  the  number  of  retinal  processes, 
optic  nerve-fibres  and  cerebral  cells,  which  are  excited,  that 
is,  by  the  number,  as  distinguished  from  the  degree  and  the 
locality,  of  nerve-excitations.  Such  an  hypothesis  may  be 
supplemented  by  the  theory  that  the  number  of  ether- 
waves  of  a  given  length  and  amplitude,  impinging  at  a 
given  time  upon  the  retina,  is  the  physical  correlate  of  the 
consciousness  of  extensity. 

But  far  more  serious  is  the  aspersion  cast  by  the  empiri- 
cist theory  on  the  trustworthiness  of  adult  introspection. 
Nobody  can  deny,  indeed,  that  the  *  naive  consciousness ' 
is  peculiarly  prone  to  err  in  its  enumeration  of  elements, 
and  likely  to  mistake,  through  inattentiveness  or  through 
positive  inability,  the  constantly  combined  for  the  ele- 
mentally simple.  Untrustworthy  as  it  is,  however,  intro- 
spection is  the  only  resource  of  the  psychologist.  He  must 
guard  it  by  experimental  methods  and  verify  it  by  com- 


92        Elemental  Consciousness  of  Extensity 

parison  with  the  experience  of  others,  but  in  the  end  he 
must  trust  it.  The  object  of  his  study  consists  simply  of 
the  facts  of  his  own  consciousness,  and  for  these  he  is  the 
final  authority.  In  the  end,  therefore,  the  issue  is  between 
the  introspection  of  the  sensationalist  and  that  of  the  em- 
piricist. The  writer  sides  with  the  former,  and  maintains 
that  our  consciousness  of  extensity  simply  is  not  a  con- 
sciousness of  motion  or  a  complex  of  pressure-sensations; 
and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  by  bigness  or  extensity  we  do 
mean  an  experience  as  distinct,  as  unlike  every  other  and 
therefore  as  elemental,  as  color  or  pitch  or  brightness. 

It  is,  however,  of  the  utmost  importance  to  distinguish 
between  the  elemental  consciousness  of  mere  bigness  or 
extensity  and  the  developed  ideas  of  space,  surface,  depth 
and  figure,  which  replace  it  in  the  adult  consciousness.  No 
one  of  these  experiences  is  what  we  mean  by  the  sensational 
element  of  'crude  extensity,'  in  which,  as  James  ^  well 
says  "  there  is  no  question  as  yet  of  surface  or  of  depth." 
These  ideas  of  '  total  space,'  of  surface  or  space  of  two  di- 
mensions, and  of  depth  or  distance,  like  the  ideas  of  definite 
shapes,  of  triangles,  circles  or  cubes,  are  without  doubt 
highly  complex.  In  all  probability  the  consciousness  of 
movement  is  an  important  factor  of  them.  They  certainly 
include,  also,  the  consciousness  of  position  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  relation  —  experiences  which  have  not  been 
carefully  discussed.  Engulfed  as  it  is  in  this  conscious- 
ness of  surface,  depth  and  form,  almost  never  appearing  in 
even  relative  simplicity,  the  consciousness  of  mere  bigness 
seems  nevertheless  to  be  a  distinct  experience  unlike  all 
others,  and  thus  a  sensational  element  of  consciousness. 

b.    PRESSURE-EXTENSITY 

Everybody  admits  that  we  are  conscious  not  only  of  vis- 
ual extensity  but  of  the  bigness  or  extensity  of  objects  of 
touch.     The  feeling  of  extensity,  occasioned  by  an  object 

1  op.  cit.,  II.,  136. 


PresstLj'c  and  Sound  Extcnsity  9 


which  touches  forehead  or  hand  or  leg,  is  indeed  as  dis- 
tinct and  indescribable  an  element  of  experience  as  the 
feeling  of  pressure  from  the  object.  The  empiricist,  to  be 
sure,  denies  this,  and  describes  the  consciousness  of  press- 
ure-extensity  as  a  consciousness  of  the  movements,  real 
or  imagined,  with  which  we  'outline'  the  object.  But 
the  arguments  which  inclined  us  to  the  view  that  visual 
extensity  is  elemental  apply  equally  to  the  tactual  experi- 
ence. It  is,  however,  an  open  question  whether  the  exten- 
sity is  identical  in  the  visual  and  tactual  experience,  or 
whether  there  are  at  least  these  two  kinds  of  extensity, 
visual  and  tactual,  just  as  there  are  different  sorts  of  in- 
tensity, like  brightness  and  loudness.  The  writer  inclines 
to  the  latter  view.^ 

C.    EXTENSITY  OF  SOUNDS  AND  OF  OTHER  SENSATION-CLASSES 

Sounds  certainly  differ  from  each  other  in  some  other 
way  than  in  pitch,  in  noise-quality  and  in  loudness.  The 
roar  of  the  waves  on  the  beach  is  not  merely  a  deeper- 
pitched  nor  always  a  louder  sound  than  the  voice  of  the 
child  at  play  beside  them  ;  it  is  also  what  we  may  call 
'bigger,'  'vaster,'  more  'extensive'  or  more  'voluminous.' 
This  difference,  whatever  it  is,  is  best  illustrated  by  play- 
ing the  same  tone  with  equal  intensity  on  different  instru- 
ments —  on  flute  and  on  horn,  on  violin  and  on  harp,  or  on 
cello  and  on  trombone.  There  is  an  unmistakable  differ- 
ence between  these  tones,  yet  the  one  is  not  higher  nor 
lower,  louder  nor  softer,  than  another.  Physicists  have 
been  wont  to  name  the  distinction  one  of  '  quality,'  but 
most  people  express  it  by  saying  that  the  trombone  tone 
is  bigger  than  the  cello  tone  ;  and  that  the  violin  has  a 
larger  sound  than  the  harp.  This  sound-bigness,  or  vol- 
ume, it  should  be  added,  varies  with  the  pitch,  for  the 
lower  the  pitch  the  '  bigger '  is  the  sound ;  yet  volume  is 

^  Cf.  op.  lit. 


94         Elemental  Consciousness  of  Extcnsity 

not  identical  with  pitch,  since  it  may  vary,  as  we  have  seen, 
when  the  pitch  is  unaltered. 

Physicists  are  probably  correct  in  attributing  sound-vol- 
ume, or  sound-quality  as  they  call  it,  to  a  complex  atmos- 
phere-vibration. The  physical  correlate  of  sound-extensity, 
as  thus  considered,  is  roughly  parallel  with  that  of  visual 
extensity.  It  consists  of  the  complexity  of  vibration  of  the 
air-particles,  depending  on  the  number  of  simple  vibrations 
into  which  each  complex  vibration  can  be  analyzed.  The 
physiological  correlate  of  the  consciousness  of  extensity 
is  probably  the  number  of  functioning  basilar-membrane 
fibres  and  brain-cells. 

The  usual  view,  it  should  be  added,  of  the  experience 
which  we  have  called  that  of  sound-extensity  is  that  sounds 
are  called  '  larger  '  or  '  vaster  '  simply  because  we  imagine 
them  as  coming  from  a  greater  distance  or  as  pervading  a 
greater  visual  space  or  as  occasioned  by  objects  which  are 
big  to  vision  or  to  touch.  On  this  hypothesis,  the  sound  of 
a  cannon,  for  example,  is  vaster  than  that  of  the  squeaky 
slate  pencil,  because  the  cannon  is  bigger  than  the  slate 
pencil  or  because  the  explosion  can  be  heard  for  a  greater 
distance  than  the  squeak.  The  difficulty  with  this  theory, 
in  the  writer's  opinion,  is  its  contradiction  of  a  fact  of  in- 
trospection, the  distinct,  unanalyzable,  elemental  character 
of  sound-bigness  which  is  quite  different  from  the  imag- 
ined visual  or  pressure  extensity. 

James  teaches  that  the  element  of  crude  extensity  or 
bigness  or  voluminousness  is  'discernible  in  each  and 
every  sensation,  though  more  developed  in  some  than  in 
others.'  He  instances  the  'massive  feeling  .  .  .  [from]  .  .  . 
entrance  into  a  warm  bath,'  contrasting  it  with  the  'prick 
of  a  pin';  the  'little  neuralgiac  pain,  fine  as  a  cobweb,' 
comparing  it  with  the  '  vast  discomfort  of  a  colic  or  a  lum- 
bago ' ;  and  the  voluminousness  of  the  '  complex  flavor  .  .  . 
of  roast  meat  or  i)lum  pudding'  or  of  the  'heavy  odors 
like  musk  or  tube  rose.'     In  all  these  cases  introspection 


Developed  Coiisciotisness  of  Extensity         95 

is  difficult,  because  it  is  so  easy  to  mistake  for  a  new  sort 
of  extensity,  what  is  really  an  image  of  the  visual  extensity, 
or  bigness,  of  the  bodily  area  which  is  affected.  For  this 
reason,  we  shall  not  attempt  even  a  tentative  decision  of 
the  disputed  question. 


II.    The  Developed  Consciousness  of  Extensity 

The  most  fruitful  source  of  difficulty,  in  the  study  of  the 
consciousness  of  extensity,  is  the  constant  confusion  of  the 
elemental  extensity  feeling  with  the  developed  and  com- 
plex consciousness  of  breadth  or  of  depth  or  of  figure.  We 
shall  try,  therefore,  to  distinguish  with  care  the  complex 
from  the  elemental  experience.  It  should  be  noted  that 
only  ideas  of  visual  and  of  pressure  extensity  have  attained 
any  marked  complexity.  For  lack,  indeed,  of  a  high 
degree  of  development,  the  very  existence  of  sound-bigness 
is  often  denied  —  most  unjustly,  because  the  crude  feeling 
of  extensity  can  be  better  observed  in  the  relative  simpli- 
city of  a  sound  idea  than  in  the  confused  tangle  of  a  visual 
or  of  a  pressure  idea. 

The  primitive  pressure-extensity  and  visual  bigness 
have  given  place  to  two  main  forms  of  consciousness  of 
the  spatial :  — 

a.    consciousness  of  surface  or  space-in-two- 

dimensions 

The  consciousness  of  surface  or  '  spread-out-ness '  is 
sometimes  supposed  to  be  an  elemental  experience.  James 
suggests  this  view  by  the  expression  '  breadth-feeling,'  but 
closer  introspection  shows  that  the  feeling  of  spread-out- 
ness (so  far  as  the  term  is  not  a  mere  synonym  for  '  big- 
ness ')  is  the  consciousness  of  a  complex  of  related  lines 
or  points  or  angles,  and  therefore  no  elemental  experience. 

The  study  of  this  complex  experience  does  not  belong 
to  our  present  discussion  of  elements  of  consciousness ;  it 


g6         Developed  Consciousness  of  Exte7isity 

is  indeed  a  subject  of  such  technical  difficulty  that  it  can- 
not profitably  be  undertaken  by  the  elementary  student. 
It  will  be  convenient,  however,  to  consider  briefly  in  this 
section  certain  features  of  the  developed  consciousness  of 
surface.  Its  centre  and  nucleus  is  the  elemental  feeling  of 
extensity  or  bigness.  With  this  is  combined,  in  the  second 
place,  a  consciousness  of  certain  bodily  movements,  usually 
of  eye  or  hand,  which  may  be  actually  performed  or  merely 
imagined.  The  incorrect  '  empirical '  account  of  the 
sensation  of  extensity  ^  turns  out,  therefore,  to  be  a  good 
account  of  the  developed  consciousness  of  surface.  My 
consciousness  of  the  outline  or  figure  of  a  church  spire  is 
distinguished  from  my  consciousness  of  its  clock,  because 
the  one  includes  the  sensations  from  long  upward  move- 
ments of  my  eye,  whereas  the  other  contains  sensations 
from  a  sort  of  circular  sweep  of  the  eyeball.  The  differ- 
ence between  rectilinear  and  circular  figures  is  the  most 
fundamental  of  the  distinctions  based  on  these  bodily 
movements. 

The  consciousness  of  surface  may  include,  in  the  second 
place,  the  consciousness  of  the  subdivision  of  surfaces." 
A  rectangle,  for  example,  may  be  thought  of  as  a  com- 
bination of  two  triangles  or  of  four  rectangles,  and  as  sub- 
divided in  innumerable  other  ways.  This  consciousness  of 
subdivided  surface  is  doubtless  brought  about  by  compar- 
ing with  each  other  objects  of  different  size  and  shape  ;  and 
it  involves  what  we  shall  later  know  as  relational  feelings; 
the  consciousness  of  '  whole  '  and  of  '  part.' 

We  may  have,  finally,  the  spatial  consciousness  of  the 
locality  or  position  of  a  figure  with  reference  to  another 
figure.  Such  a  consciousness  of  locality  includes  (i)  the 
consciousness  of  the  first  figure,  (2)  the  consciousness  of 
the  second  figure,  with  which  the  first  is  compared,  (3)  a 
relational  feeling  of  the  connection  of  the  one  with  the 
other,  (4)  the  consciousness  of   the    surface  between  the 

iCf.  p.  90.  2Cf.  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  p.  167  seq. 


Co7iscioiisucss  of  Distance  or  Depth  97 

two,  and  (5)  the  consciousness  of  the  direction,  right  or  left 
and  up  or  down,  of  one  from  the  other.  This  consists,  in 
whole  or  in  part,  in  imagined  movements  —  for  most  of  us, 
eye-movements.  When,  for  example,  I  am  conscious  of 
my  collie  as  lying  to  the  right  of  his  kennel,  I  imagine  the 
sensations  which  would  be  involved  in  moving  the  eye  so 
as  to  bring  the  retinal  images  of  collie  and  kennel  succes- 
sively upon  the  point  of  clearest  vision. 

b.    CONSCIOUSNESS    OF    DISTANCE    OR    DEPTH 

We  unquestionably  have  a  consciousness  of  the  depth 
of  objects  or  of  their  distance.  "  It  is  impossible,"  James 
says,^  "  to  lie  on  one's  back  on  a  hill,  to  let  the  empty  abyss 
of  blue  fill  one's  whole  visual  field,  and  to  sink  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  merely  sensational  consciousness  re- 
garding it,  without  feeling  that  an  indeterminate,  palpitat- 
ing, circling  feeUng  of  depth  is  as  indefeasibly  one  of  its 
attributes  as  its  breadth."  In  somewhat  the  same  way, 
as  James  quotes  from  Hering,  darkness  seems  to  us  to 
'  fill '  a  room  instead  of  covering  its  walls,  and  a  transpar- 
ent cube  appears  more  '  roomy  '  than  the  '  mere  surface  ' 
of  an  opaque  one. 

We  are  therefore  concerned  to  discover  the  nature  of 
the  consciousness  of  depth.  And  we  are  met  at  the  outset 
by  the  theory,  embodied  by  James  in  the  words  '  depth 
feeling,'  that  it  is  an  element  of  consciousness.  At  first 
thought,  it  does  indeed  seem  to  contain  an  elemental,  a 
distinct  experience,  unlike  any  other,  and  like  only  to  it- 
self. But  closely  scrutinized,  this  elementalness  turns  out 
to  be  the  mere  vague  consciousness  of  extensity,  and  that 
which  distinguishes  the  depth-consciousness  from  other 
forms  of  extensity-consciousness  is  rather  the  dim  con- 
sciousness of  one's  whole  body  in  motion,  the  experience 
of  what  Mill  describes  ^  as  '  muscular  motion  unimpeded.' 

1  op.  cit.,  II.,  p.  212. 

2  "  Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy,"  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  13, 
p.  282. 

H 


98  Developed  Consciousness  of  Extensity 

The  epithets  '  palpitating '  and  '  circling,'  applied  by 
James  in  the  passage  quoted,  to  what  he  names  the  feel- 
ing of  depth,  suggest  that  the  consciousness  of  the  depth 
of  the  blue  sky  and  the  roominess  of  the  dark  enclosure 
are  really  a  vague  reahzation  of  this  freedom  of  possible 
movement.  Thus,  my  consciousness  of  the  depth  of  the 
sky  includes  an  indistinct  image  of  my  body  as  moving  up- 
ward ;  and  the  roominess  of  the  dark  room  implies  my  grop- 
ing motions.  My  consciousness  of  an  object  as  a  volume 
and  not  a  mere  surface  includes  very  definitely,  to  the  intro- 
spection of  the  writer,  an  image  of  my  body  moving  about 
in  such  a  way  as  to  see  also  the  hidden  side  and  back  of 
the  object.  In  other  words,  every  experience  of  depth 
includes  an  elemental  feeling  of  extensity,  and  beyond 
this  —  not  a  specific  'depth  feehng '  but  a  consciousness 
of  the  movements  of  the  body.  In  favor  of  this  interpre- 
tation, and  against  the  theory  of  a  definite  depth-sensation, 
an  argument  from  the  physical  side  may  be  adduced  in 
support  of  our  introspection.  Bishop  Berkeley  long  ago 
called  attention  to  the  fact  that  no  point,  situated  directly 
behind  a  fixated  point,  can  by  any  possibility  affect  the 
retina.  "  Distance,"  he  said,^  "  of  itself  and  immediately 
cannot  be  seen.  For  distance  being  a  line  directed  end- 
wise to  the  eye,  it  projects  only  one  point  in  the  fund  of 
the  eye.  Which  point  remains  invariably  the  same,  whether 
the  distance  be  longer  or  shorter."  But  this  situation  of 
one  point  directly  behind  another  is  of  course  the  only  case 
of  absolute  depth,  for  the  position  of  an  object  in  which 
some  points  are  behind  others,  but  also  at  one  side  of  them, 
gives  the  effect  of  surface  or  spread-outness.  The  only 
fair  physical  test,  therefore,  of  the  existence  of  depth- 
sensations  seems  to  rule  out  the  possibility  of  them. 

On  the  physiological  side,  also,  there  is  a  certain  diffi- 
culty for  the  hypothesis  of  a  particular  sensation  of  visual 
depth.     The  only  physiological  explanation  which  can  be 

^  "  Essay  towards  a  New  Theory  of  Vision." 


Consciousness  of  Distance  or  Depth  99 

given  of  these  alleged  sensations  of  visual  depth  is  the 
following :  when  one  looks  at  an  object  with  the  two 
eyes,  the  right  eye  undoubtedly  sees  slightly  more  on  the 
right  and  the  left  eye  a  little  more  on  the  left  of  the  object, 
so  that  the  images  which  it  produces  on  the  retina  differ  a 
little  in  the  two  eyes ;  and  the  difference  increases  with 
the  distance  of  the  object.^  Corresponding,  it  is  said,  with 
this  double  retinal  stimulation  and  with  the  cerebral  ac- 
tivity which  accompanies  it,  is  the  consciousness  of  visual 
depth  or  voluminousness.  But  this  explanation  altogether 
overlooks  the  fact  that  the  two  eyes  ordinarily  function  as 
one,  probably  because  from  each  retina  fibres  of  the  optic 
nerve  go  to  the  occipital  lobe  of  each  hemisphere ;  and  it 
accordingly  is  very  improbable  that  any  cerebral  distinction 
results  from  the  slight  difference  of  the  retinal  images. 

It  is  fair  to  conclude  that  the  existence  of  specific  depth- 
sensations  is  wholly  unproved.  Both  breadth  and  depth 
may  best  be  defined  as  visual  or  tactual  experiences,  in- 
volving a  consciousness  of  motion  and  including,  as  their 
nucleus,  the  sensational  experience  of  mere  crude  extensity. 
Breadth  and  depth  are  differentiated  in  that  the  motor  idea 
included  in  consciousness  of  breadth  is  that  of  motion  of  a 
limited  part  of  the  body,  as  eyeballs  or  fingers;  whereas 
the  consciousness  of  depth  requires  also  the  idea  of 
motion  of  my  body  as  a  whole,  from  one  position  to  an- 
other. Depth  or  distance,  therefore,  is  not  perceived  until 
one  has  gained  the  consciousness  of  the  peculiarly  constant 
combination  of  visual,  pressure  and  pain  sensations  which 
one  calls  one's  own  body.  Mere  sensations  of  extensity, 
on  the  other  hand,  may  accompany  a  baby's  very  first 
color  and  light  sensations,  and  may  precede  by  many  weeks 
his  acquaintance  with  his  body.  The  consciousness  of  dis- 
tance thus  includes  (i)  a  feeUng  of  crude  extensity,  (2)  a 
certain  consciousness  of  the  relation  of  objects,  (3)  a  more 


1  For  experiments  cf.  Sanford,  212-217;  Titchener,  §  42.     Cf.  Titchener, 
"Outline,"  §  44. 


lOO       Developed  Consciousness  of  Extensity 

or  less  vague  consciousness  of  movements,  of  my  body  as 
a  whole,  toward  or  around  an  object,  and  (4)  the  sensa- 
tions due  to  the  convergence  of  the  eyes.  When,  for 
example,  I  look  from  a  boulder  six  feet  away  to  a  light- 
house a  mile  distant,  the  angle  of  vision  becomes  more 
acute,  that  is  to  say,  the  pupils  of  the  eyes  turn  toward 
■each  other,  and  I  get  sensations  of  pressure  from  the 
muscle  contractions  which  bring  about  the  movement. 

It  should  be  added  that  the  consciousness  of  distance 
is  often  occasioned  by  the  observation  of  certain  visual 
characteristics  of  an  object,  'signs  of  distance,'  as  they  are 
called.  The  consciousness  of  dimness  of  color  and  of  hazy 
outlines,  and  of  the  reduced  size  of  a  familiar  object  is 
followed  by  the  consciousness  of  the  object's  distance. 

This  discussion  of  the  extensity-consciousness  has  so 
far  left  out  of  account  a  distinction  which  has  often  con- 
fused the  point  at  issue.  The  sensational  theory  has  been 
supposed  to  imply  that  the  consciousness  of  extensity  is 
innate,  and  has  accordingly  gone  by  the  name  of  the' 
nativistic  theory  of  space.  On  this  basis  the  '  nativists ' 
have  occasionally  argued,  from  the  exactness  of  the  motor 
adjustments  of  new-born  animals,  that  an  innate  conscious- 
ness of  space  relations  is  possible.  Because  chicks,  which 
are  hooded  as  soon  as  they  leave  the  shell,  are  able  when 
first  unhooded  on  the  second  day  to  pick  up  grains  of 
corn,^  it  is  argued  that  they  are  innately  conscious  of  the 
position  of  the  grains  of  corn.  To  this  argument,  the 
opponent  of  the  nativist  theory  rightly  retorts  that  the  na- 
tivist's  argument  from  the  reactions  of  young  animals  loses 
sight,  first,  of  the  fact  that  these  may  be  merely  uncon- 
scious reflexes,  and  second,  of  the  impossibility  of  arguing 
from  the  animal  to  the  human  consciousness. 

The  upholders  of  the  opposite  hypothesis  —  the  genetic 
theory,  as  from  this  point  of  view  it  is  called  —  then  argue 

1  Cf.  D.  A.  Spaulding,  MacmiUan's  Magazine,  Vol.  XXVI.,  esp.  283-287. 


Summary  of  Doctrinx  of\  ExUimly         :o: 

positively  that  there  can  be  no  innate  consciousness  of 
space  because  of  the  uncertainties  of  a  baby's  early  motions, 
its  efforts  to  seize  the  moon  and  its  inability  to  grasp  the 
object  close  before  it,  and  because  of  the  long  training 
necessary  to  enable  a  patient  recovered  from  blindness  to 
calculate  the  size  and  distance  of  an  object.^  But  these 
arguments  prove  only,  what  no  one  ever  doubted,  that 
exact  measurements  of  depth  and  distance  are  the  results 
of  education  ;  they  certainly  do  not  prove  the  utter  absence 
of  crude,  elemental  experiences  of  extensity,  in  the  earliest 
hours  of  consciousness. 

Even  more  serious  than  the  insufficiency  of  both  argu- 
ments is  the  false  conception  which  underlies  them.  The 
truth  is  that  an  elemental,  sensational  consciousness  is 
not  necessarily  innate.  On  the  contrary,  an  experience, 
though  absent  in  the  first  moments  or  days  or  months  of 
the  individual  human  life,  may  prove,  when  it  appears, 
to  be  a  distinct  and  unanalyzable,  and  therefore,  an  ele- 
mental form  of  consciousness.  The  sensational  character 
of  extensity  would  not,  therefore,  be  disproved,  though  it 
were  shown  to  be  a  later,  not  an  innate,  experience.  But 
the  truth  is  that,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  problem 
of  innateness  is  as  insoluble  as  it  is  unessential. 

The  conclusions,  of  this  whole  difficult  discussion  may 
now  be  summarized:  (i)  What  is  ordinarily  called  the 
consciousness  of  the  spatial  is  a  sensational  experience  of 
mere  '  bigness '  or  '  crude  extensity,'  varying  with  dif- 
ferent sense-types  but  most  developed  in  vision  and  in 
touch.  (2)  This  extensity-cqnsciousness  has  a  probable 
physiological  correlate,  the  diffusion  of  excitation,  that  is, 
the  number  of  nerve-elements  which  are  excited.  (3)  Vis- 
ual and  pressure  extensities  are  combined  with  other,  and 
especially  with  motor  elements,  and  thus  merged  in  very 
complex    experiences    of    two    sorts,    breadth    and    depth. 

1  Cf.  Bibliography. 


i02  The  ■.Consciousness  of  Extensity 

(4)  The  consciousness  of  breadth,  or  surface,  is  a  complex 
experience  including  extensity,  and  the  consciousness  of 
motion  of  the  eye  and  the  limbs.  (5)  The  consciousness 
of  depth  or  distance  is  a  complex  idea  including  extensity, 
or  bigness,  and  the  consciousness  of  the  motion  both  of 
eye  and  limbs  and  of  the  body  as  a  whole. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

SENSATIONAL   ELEMENT    AND    SENSATION 

With  the  end  of  our  outline  study  of  all  reputed  sense- 
elements  of  consciousness  comes  a  natural  opportunity 
to  review  our  results  and  to  define  our  terms  from  the 
vantage  ground  of  a  completed  examination  of  the  facts. 
The  element  of  consciousness  has  already  been  defined 
as  a  distinct  and  further  unanalyzable  feeling,  or  fact  of 
consciousness.  This  definition  has  been  justified  by  the 
discovery,  in  our  complex  experience,  of  a  multitude  of 
such  indescribable  and  irreducible  elements.  The  concep- 
tion of  '  sensational  element,'  we  have,  however,  taken  for 
granted,  and  we  have  now,  therefore,  to  frame  a  definition 
of  it.  The  definition  must  of  course  take  account  of  the 
elements  of  consciousness  already  enumerated  as  sensa- 
tional, and  must  definitely  mark  them  off  from  others  in 
a  class  by  themselves.  A  careful  review  of  the  psychic 
phenomena  which  we  have  called  sensational  elements 
discloses  the  following  general  characteristic  :  sensational 
elements  are  actually  present  in  every  concrete,  conscious 
experience.  However  lofty  one's  thought,  or  however 
impassioned  one's  emotion,  whether  one  reflect  on  the 
infinite,  or  thrill  with  the  love  of  humanity,  always,  in- 
cluded within  the  experience,  are  sensational  elements, 
those,  for  example,  which  make  up  the  verbal  images 
'  humanity  '  and  '  infinite,'  and  the  feeUngs  of  quickened  or 
retarded  breath  which  make  part  of  one's  emotional  ex- 
perience. It  must  be  noted  carefully,  that  this  character- 
istic, invariable  occurrence,  is  in  no  sense  a  part  of  the 
sensational  element  itself.     On  the  contrary,  the  element, 

103 


I04         Sensational  Element  and  Sensation 

as  we  know,  is  simple  and  unanalyzable,  mere  blueness,  or 
loudness,  or  bigness.  The  fact  that  sensational  elements 
are  always  present  in  our  experience  is  only  discovered  by 
after  reflection,  and  is,  therefore,  a  fact  about  the  sensa- 
tional element,  not  a  fact  within  it.  This  reflectively 
observed  characteristic  may  be  named  the  psychological 
criterion  of  the  sensational  element,  because  it  is  estab- 
lished without  reference  to  any  physiological  and  physical 
phenomena. 

But  psychology  does  also  correlate  its  facts,  for  purposes 
of  classification,  with  the  facts  of  physics  and  physiology. 
The  physiological  criterion  of  the  sensational  element  is  the 
fact  that,  corresponding  with  every  sensational  element, 
there  is  some  assignable  change,  both  in  an  area  of  the  brain 
and  in  a  peripheral  nerve  end-organ.  This  statement,  of 
course,  does  not  imply  that  the  unsecjational  psychic  ele- 
ments are  without  corresponding  neural  excitation  ;  on  the 
other  hand,  we  have  reason  to  suppose  that  every  element 
of  every  emotion,  belief  or  volition  is  physiologically  con- 
ditioned by  some  change  within  the  nervous  system.  What 
is  asserted  is  merely,  first,  that  the  neural  excitation  of  the 
sensational  element  is  more  readily  assigned,  and  second, 
that  this  neural  excitation  involves  peripheral  organs  of 
the  body.  By  '  peripheral  organs  '  are  meant,  in  this  con- 
nection, all  parts  of  the  body  outside  the  brain  and  spinal 
cord,  for  example,  the  retina,  the  basilar  membrane,  the 
taste-bulbs,  and  the  joint-surfaces.  The  excitation  of 
these  peripheral  organs  is  conveyed  by  nerve-fibres  to  the 
brain,  and  the  cerebral  excitation  is,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
immediately  antecedent  condition  of  the  sensational  con- 
sciousness. 

The  situation  of  most  of  the  important  sense-organs, 
near  the  surface  of  the  body,  explains  the  possibility  of 
assigning  a  third  characteristic  of  the  sensational  element. 
This  may  be  named  its  physical  criterion,  and  may  be 
formulated  thus :  for  almost  every  sensational  element 
there  is  a  distinct  physical  condition.     Thus,  the  rate  of 


Sensational  Quality  and  Intensity  105 

ether-vibrations  is  the  physical  condition  of  each  color; 
the  ampHtude  of  the  vibrations  is  the  condition  of  each 
brightness  or  color-intensity,  and  the  rate  of  atmosphere- 
vibrations  is  the  condition  of  each  musical  pitch. 

Within  the  class  of  sensational  elements,  thus  marked 
off  from  others,  psychological  method  recognizes  three 
sub-classes,  usually  distinguished  as  qualities,  intensities, 
and  extensities.  The  fundamental  ground  for  this  division 
is  the  observed  distinctness  of  these  groups  of  elements, 
the  fact  that  hues  and  pitches  and  tastes  seem,  from  one 
point  of  view,  to  belong  together,  and  to  be  equally  distinct 
from  brightnesses,  loudnesses,  and  taste-intensities,  or  from 
visual  and  auditory  bignesses.  But  besides  this  immedi- 
ately observed  distinctness,  the  sensational  qualities  differ, 
as  has  been  shown,  from  intensities  and  from  extensities, 
by  their  incapacity  "^or  direct  serial  arrangement.^  Aside 
from  what  may  be  called  the  complex  series  in  which  sen- 
sational qualities  may  figure  (color-series  like  '  red,  orange, 
yellow,  yellow-green,'  or  tone-series  like  C-CE-EG,  in 
which  the  likeness  of  the  successive  terms  is  due  to  the 
presence  of  identical  elements),  sensational  qualities  are 
also  capable  of  simple  serial  arrangement.  Such  series  as 
'red,  yellow,  green,  blue,'  or  C-D-E-F  are  illustrations. 
Now  the  serial  character  of  this  succession  is  due  to  an 
increase,  not  of  the  quality,  but  of  the  difference.  In  other 
words,  the  consciousness  of  'more,'  which  characterizes 
every  step  of  a  series,  attaches  itself,  not  directly  to  each 
quality,  but  to  the  recognized  likeness  or  difference  of  each 
quality  as  compared  with  its  neighbors.  Fully  expressed 
such  a  tone-series  is  not,  therefore,  C-D-E-F-G,  nor  yet :  — 

C  .        .        . 

D  .         .         .        more  C 

more  D 

still  more  C 

^  The  theory  of  the  series  underlying  the  distinctions  which  follow  is  stated 
Iiy  James  in  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  I.,  pp.  489  seq.,  530  seq.     Cf.  also 


io6     Sensational  Quality,  Intensity  a7id  Extensity 
but  rather,  as  has  been  shown  already, 

V^  •  ■  • 

D         .         .         .         different  from  C 

f  different  from  D 
Diore  different  from  C 


1 

1 


different  from  E 
more  different  from  D 
[  still  more  different  from  C 

Intensities,  on  the  other  hand,  and  extensities,  are  capa- 
ble of  direct,  simple  serial  arrangement.  The  increase  is 
of  the  intensity  or  the  extensity,  that  is,  the  '  feeling  of 
more,'  as  James  calls  it,  is  directly  connected  with  the 
consciousness  of  'bright'  or  'loud'  or  'big,'  and  our  series 
become  'bright  —  more  bright  —  still  more  bright,'  'loud 
—  more  loud  —  still  more  loud,'  'big  —  more  big  —  still 
more  big,'  and  so  on. 

The  attempt  to  indicate  a  similar  psychological  distinc- 
tion of  extensity  from  intensity  has,  so  far  as  the  writer  is 
concerned,  been  unsuccessful.  As  has  been  shown,  how- 
ever, the  extensity  has  distinct  physiological  and  physical 
conditions.  From  the  consideration  of  the  psychic  expe- 
rience we  shall,  therefore,  proceed  to  an  enumeration  of  I 
physiological  correlates.                                                                               1 

The  physiological  condition  of  the  sense-quality  is  ad- 
mitted to  be  the  locality  of  the  excitation.  For  example, 
the  physiological  explanation  of  the  sensational  element 
blueness  is  the  fact  that  it  is  preceded  by  excitation  of  the 
retina  and  of  the  occipital  lobe  ;  the  explanation  of  the 
sensational  element  bitterness  is  the  excitation,  first,  of  a 
taste-papilla  on  the  back  part  of  the  tongue,  and  second, 
(in  all  probability)  of  an  area  of  the  temporal  lobe.  Our 
more  detailed  study  of  these  physiological  conditions  has 
shown,  to  be  sure,  great  gaps  in  our  knowledge  of  neural 

throughout,  "  Elements    of   Conscious    Complexes,"   M.  W.    Calkins,  Psycho- 
logical  Keviezv,  VII.,  377,  from  which  certain  paragraphs  are  transferred. 


Physiological  and  Physical  Conditions      107 

localization,  but  everybody  admits  the  general  correspond- 
ence of  sensational  quality  with  neural  locality. 

At  first  sight  there  seems,  however,  no  distinct  physio- 
logical condition  for  the  sense-intensity,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  intensity  as  well  as  quality  seems  to  vary  with  the 
place  of  excitation  of  the  nerve  endings  and  centres.  The 
excitation  of  the  basilar  membrane  and  the  temporal  lobe 
seems  to  occasion  the  feeling  of  loudness  as  well  as  that 
of  pitch ;  and  the  excitation  of  retina  and  occipital  lobe 
appears  to  condition  the  sensational  intensity,  the  bright- 
ness, as  well  as  the  sensational  quality,  the  color.  Because 
of  this  alleged  absence  of  a  specific  physiological  condi- 
tion, many  psychologists  have  indeed  refused  to  admit  the 
intensity  as  a  sensational  element  coordinate  with  the 
quality.  Now  we  must  first  oppose  to  this  view  the  truth, 
that  no  argument  from  physiology  can  stand  against  the 
testimony  of  consciousness  to  the  distinct  and  irreducible 
character  of  the  sense-intensity.  We  have,  however,  no 
need  to  admit  that  there  is  no  assignable  physiological 
correlate  of  sense-intensity,  for  there  are  innumerable  vari- 
ations in  the  degree  of  excitation  of  the  given  end-organ 
and  brain-centre ;  and  we  may  well  suppose  that  delicately 
graded  intensities  correspond  directly  with  the  different 
degrees  of  energy  with  which  the  nerve-cells  of  end-organs 
and  brain  are  decomposed. 

As  physiological  correlate  of  sensational  elements  of 
extensity,  we  may  finally  suggest  the  specific  relation  of 
these  feelings  of  extensity  to  the  number  of  nerve-cells 
excited  at  a  given  time.  The  more  extensive  color  or 
pressure  is,  on  this  view,  conditioned  by  the  greater  num- 
ber of  retinal  or  Meissner  cells  and  of  cerebral  cells  which 
are  decomposed,  at  a  given  time. 

The  physical  criteria  of  the  different  types  of  sensa- 
tional elements  are  even  less  certainly  known,  and  this  is 
natural,  since  there  are  so  few  sorts  of  physical  stimulus 
about  which  we  can  even  make  plausible  guesses.  It  is, 
however,  possible  to  observe  in  physical  stimuli  the  mode, 


io8     Physical  Stimuli  of  Sensational  Elements 

degree  and  complexity  of  stimulation,  and  these  distinc- 
tions correspond  in  general  with  those  of  the  locality,  de- 
gree and  number  of  the  physiological  processes.  Thus, 
the  quality  normally  varies  with  the  different  modes  of 
physical  stimulation.  In  the  case  of  most  sensations,  this 
distinction  can  only  be  indicated  roughly  by  the  use  of  the 
terms  '  mechanical,'  '  thermal  '  and  '  chemical  stimulus  ' ; 
but  the  better-known  stimuli  of  visual  and  auditory  sense- 
elements  are  distinguished  from  each  other  by  the  dif- 
ference in  the  vibratory  medium,  ether  or  atmosphere. 
Moreover,  each  distinct  element  of  a  given  quality,  the 
red,  green,  blue  or  yellow,  the  C,  D,  E  or  F,  is  conditioned 
by  a  definite  rate  of  ether  or  of  air  vibration.  The  inten- 
sities of  these  different  sensation-classes  vary  with  the 
degrees  of  the  excitation  (in  the  case  of  ether  and  air 
vibrations,  with  the  amplitudes  of  the  waves).  And  finally, 
the  extensities  vary  with  the  complexity  of  stimulation, 
for  example,  with  the  complexity  of  ether-waves  or  atmo- 
spheric vibrations  of  similar  length  and  amplitude. 

This  relation  of  the  psychical  element  to  the  physical 
stimulus  is,  however,  as  has  been  said,  merely  a  normal  or 
usual,  not  a  necessary  relation.  A  given  sense-element  is 
not  invariably  produced  by  the  mode,  degree  or  amount 
of  a  definite  form  of  physical  energy.  On  the  contrary, 
the  sensation  following  upon  excitation  of  a  given  nerve- 
fibre  is  the  same,  whatever  the  mode  of  the  physical  stimu- 
lus. When  the  optic  nerve,  for  example,  is  mechanically 
stimulated  by  the  internal  jar  from  a  fall,  we  'see  stars,' 
that  is  to  say,  the  sensation  is  the  characteristic  one  of 
light;  and  when  a  'cold-spot,'  the  skin  which  covers  an 
end-organ  of  cold,  is  mechanically  stimulated,  an  experi- 
ence not  of  pressure  but  of  cold  is  the  result.  This  phe- 
nomenon, known  as  the  specific  energy  of  nerve-substance, 
is  a  striking  illustration  of  the  truth  that  psychical  facts 
are  direct  accompaniments,  not  of  physical,  but  of  physio- 
logical phenomena.  There  is,  therefore,  only  a  normal, 
not  a  constant,  physical  criterion  of  the  sense-element. 


Critcj'ia  of  Scnsc-clcmcuts  ■  109 

All  these  criteria  may  be  grouped  together  in  the  follow- 
ing summary :  — 

A.  Criteria    of  All    Elements    of    Consciousness:    Distinctness    and 

Unanalyzableness. 

B.  Criteria  of  Sensational  Elements. 

I.    General  criteria. 

a.  Always  present,  conceivably  without  elements  of  another 

order. 

b.  Conditioned  by  definite  form  of  peripheral  and  of  central 

excitation. 

c.  Originally  conditioned   (except  pain)   by  definite  form    of 

physical  stimulation. 
II. 

a.  Criteria  of  sensational  qualities. 

1 .  Capable  of  indirect,  simple  serial  arrangement  only. 

2.  Varying  with  locality  of  physiological  excitation. 

3.  Varying  with  mode  of  physical  stimulation. 

b.  Criteria  of  sensational  intensities. 

1.  Capable  of  direct,  simple  serial  arrangement. 

2.  Varying  with  degree  (and  with  locality)  of  physiological 

excitation. 

3.  Varying  with  degree  of  physical  stimulation. 

c.  Criteria  of  sensational  extensities. 

1.  Capable  of  direct,  simple  serial  arrangement. 

2.  Varying  with  diffusion  (and  with  locality)  of  physiological 

excitation. 

3.  Varying  with  complexity  of  physical  stimulus. 

By  still  another  table  we  may  summarize  the  different 
elements  themselves,  grouping  them  into  sensations,  that 
is,  into  complexes  of  invariably  combined  sensational  ele- 
ments. There  is  no  color,  for  example,  which  is  not  bound 
up  with  a  certain  brightness  and  a  certain  bigness,  and  no 
pitch  which  is  not  combined  with  loudness  and  volume. 
Therefore,  the  combined  color,  brightness  and  bigness  are 
called  a  visual  sensation,  and  the  combined  pitch  or  noise 
quality,  loudness  and  volume  are  called  an  auditory  sensa- 
tion. Some  psychologists  accordingly  regard  the  sensation 
as  the  unit  of  psychology,  and  speak  of  the  sensational 
elements,  the  quality,  intensity  and  extensity,  as  attributes 
of  the  sensation. 


no         Sensational  Element  and  Sensation 


SENSATIONAL   ELEMENTS 

A.  From  External  Stimulus 

{Psychic  nature) 

I.  Visual  Sensations 


(Quality)       (Intensity)  (Extensity) 

a.  I.  Color  

2.  Colorless     

light 


b.  Brightness 


c.  Bigness 


{Organ  stimulated) 
{Periph.)        {Central) 

Retina       Occip.  Lobe       Ether-waves 

Length  of 
waves 

..  (degree  of      „  (degree  of     Amplitude 
excitation)     '    excitation)       of  waves 

Number 

(number  of,,  (number  of     Oi  SHllul- 

"  cells  excited)     cells  excited)    taneous 

waves 


II.  Sound-sensations 

a.  I.  Tone 
2.  Noise 

b.  Loudness 


Cochlea       Temporal 
Lobe 


Air-waves 

Length  of 
waves 


c.  Volume 


"  (degree  of  "  (degree  of   Amplitude 
excitation)  excitation)      of  waves 

(number  of         ,  .         ..       ^°'^' 

"       filires  .,  '"""'''".''L    Plexity 
excited)         ^^"'•^""^"'ot  waves 


III.  Taste-sensations 


Mucous  Mem-      Temporal 
brane  of  Lobe 

Mouth  (median 

surface) 


a.  Taste 


b.  Taste-intensity 

c.  Taste-extensity  (?) 


Liquid 
Chemical 

Stimulus 

Mode  of 
stimulus 

(degree  of     .,       (degree  of    Degree  of 
"      excitation)    '       excitation)     stimulus 

(extent  of  (number  of  Amount  of 

"    excitation)      "  cells  excited)    stimulus 


IV.  Smell-sensations 


Mucous  Mem-     Temporal 
BRANE  OF  Lobe 

Nose  (median) 


a.  Smel 


b.  Smell-intensity 

c.  Smell-extensity  (?) 


Gaseous 
Chemical 

Stimulus 

Mode  of 
"  "  .        1 

stimulus 

(degree  of     „      (degree  of)    Degree  ot 
"      excitation)     "      excitation)     stimulus 

„      (extent  of      „    (numlier  of  Amount  of 
excitation)         cells  excited)    stimulus 


B.  From  External  or  from  Internal  Stimulus 

V.  Pressure-sensations  Meissncr  (^"''^ 

cells  (?)  in ]J"'"'^         Rolandic 
a.  Pressure-quality  iMuscies(.)    j-egjon 

b.  Pressure-intensity  "  " 

c.  Pressure-extensity  "  " 


Mechanical 
stimulus 


The  Psycho-physic  Law 


1 1 1 


VI.  Pain-sensations 


End-organs  in     Rolandic       Meclianical 
cutis,  etc.  region        and  I'hermal 


VII.    TEMI'ERATURE(?)-SENSATI0NS 

a.  Cold  1 

b.  Warmth  i 

End-organs  in 
cutis,  mem- 
branes, etc. 
(1 

Rolandic 
region 

Thermal 

stimulus 

If 

c.  Hotness 

<( 

u 

(1 

C.  From  Stimulus  of  Internal  Organ  Only 


VIII.  Sensations  of  Strain  (?)  i 


End-organs      Rolandic 
in  tendons         region 


Mechanical 

stimulus  by 

external 

weight  or 

internal  pull 


An  illustration  of  the  relative  interdependence  of  physi- 
cal and  psychical  phenomena  will  conclude  this  chapter. 
It  is  formulated  in  what  is  named  the  psycho-physic  law,^ 
that  is,  in  general  outline,  the  probability  that  sensations 
vary  regularly  but  not  directly  with  the  quantitative  varia- 
tions of  their  physical  stimuli.  Many  illustrations  of  this 
law  are  matters  of  everyday  observation.  A  room  grows 
lighter  with  the  number  of  lighted  gas  jets,  but  a  single  jet 
more  in  a  brilliantly  illuminated  room  does  not  make  it 
observably  lighter;  the  feelings  of  pressure  and  of  strain- 
intensity  change  with  the  addition  of  weights  to  an 
extended  arm,  but  the  addition  of  a  single  ounce  to  a  four- 
pound  weight  cannot  be  distinguished.  The  early  psycho- 
logical experimenters  confined  themselves  closely  to  the 
verification  and  extension  of  this  law.  first  suggested  by 
E.  H.  Weber  and  later  minutely  discussed  and  formulated 
by  G.  T.  Fechner.  The  experiments,  which  have  dealt 
exclusively  with  sensation-intensities,  have  resulted  in  the 
following  general  conclusion :  to  obtain  a  series  of  sensa- 


1  The  specific  mention  of  quality,  intensity   and   (probable)  extensity  is 
here  omitted,  and  shouUl  be  sujiplied. 
■^  Cf.  Bibliography. 


1 1 2  The  Psycho-physic  Law 

tion-intensities,  just  perceptibly  different  from  each  other, 
the  series  of  physical  stimuli  must  differ,  one  from  the 
other,  by  a  certain  definite  proportion.  The  proportion 
varies  with  the  form  of  stimulus :  the  degree  of  sound 
stimulus  must  increase  by  one-third,  of  gaseous  olfactory 
stimulus  by  about  one-fourth,  of  mechanical  surface  stimu- 
lus by  one-twentieth,  of  mechanical  pull  by  one-fortieth, 
and  of  light  stimulus  by  one  one-hundredth.  For  example, 
if  one  can  just  tell  the  difference  between  weights  of  one 
hundred  and  one  hundred  and  five  grams  applied  to  the 
ends  of  the  fingers,  one  will  not  be  able  to  distinguish 
weights  of  two  hundred  and  two  hundred  and  five  grams, 
but  will  barely  discriminate  weights  of  two  hundred  and 
two  hundred  and  ten. 


CHAPTER   IX 

ATTRIBUTIVE    ELEMENTS   OF   CONSCIOUSNESS 

I.  The  Affections  :    Feelings  of  Pleasantness  and  of 

Unpleasantness 

It  needs  no  text-book  in  psychology  to  convince  us  that 
our  analysis  of  consciousness  is  incomplete  when  we  have 
merely  enumerated  the  sense-elements.  For,  quite  as 
prominent  as  the  sights  and  sounds  and  fragrances  and 
all  the  other  sensational  parts  of  our  experience  are  the 
pleasantnesses  and  unpleasantnesses.  Now  these  are 
clearly  elemental  feelings.  One  can  no  more  tell  what  one 
means  by  agreeableness  or  by  disagreeableness,  than  one 
can  tell  what  redness  and  warmth  and  acidity  are  :  in  other 
words,  these  are  irreducible  experiences,  and  they  are  per- 
fectly distinct  from  each  other  as  well  as  from  the  sensa- 
tional elements. 

From  the  class  of  sense-elements  they  are,  however, 
plainly  differentiated.  Unlike  sensational  elements,  the 
affections  are  not  always  present  in  consciousness,  and 
cannot  conceivably  occur  by  themselves  without  belonging, 
as  it  were,  to  elements  of  another  sort.  The  fact  that 
we  are  not  always  conscious  of  either  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness  is  ordinarily  expressed  by  saying  that 
much  of  our  everyday  experience  is  '  indifferent '  to  us. 
Another  characteristic  is  clearly  shown  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  we  are  conscious,  not  of  agreeableness  or  disa- 
greeableness by  itself,  but  always  of  an  agreeable  or 
disagreeable  somewhat,  of  a  pleasant  familiarity,  for 
example,  or  of  an  unpleasant  taste.  These  distinctions,  of 
course,  are  not  immediate  constituents  of  either  pleasant- 
I  113 


114  Pleasantness  and  Unpleasantness 

ness  or  unpleasantness,  that  is  to  say,  when  one  is  con- 
scious of  pleasure  one  does  not  necessarily  say  to  oneself, 
"  this  experience  might  have  been  perfectly  indifferent,  and 
the  pleasantness  of  it  belongs  to  its  brilHant  color."  On  the 
contrary,  these  are  only  possible  after-reflections  about 
the  agreeableness  or  disagreeableness.  The  fact  that  the 
affections  are  not  always  present  in  consciousness,  and  that 
they  seem,  as  has  been  said,  to  '  belong  to  '  other  elements, 
may  be  indicated  by  calling  them  '  attributive '  elements  of 
consciousness^ 

Some  psychologists,  notably  Wundt.^  express  this  rela- 
tion by  calling  the  affection  an  '  attribute '  of  sensation. 
There  are  two  objections  to  this  conception,  as  usually  held. 
In  the  first  place,  it  often  treats  the  affection  as  if  it  were 
exactly  on  a  par  with  sensational  quality,  intensity  and 
extensity,  forgetting  that  these  invariably  occur  together, 
whereas  the  affection  is,  as  we  have  seen,  sometimes  lack- 
ing. For  example,  a  visual  object  is  always  colored,  bright, 
and  extended,  but  not  always  either  pleasant  or  unpleasant. 
In  the  second  place,  the  definition  of  affection  as  attribute 
of  sensation  leaves  no  room  for  a  pleasantness  which  be- 
longs, not  to  sensations,  but  to  unsensational  experiences. 
The  familiarity,  for  example,  not  the  color  of  a  landscape, 
may  be  its  pleasant  feature.  This  possibility  will  later  be 
discussed  more  fully.  The  term  '  attributive  '  is  used  in  this 
book  to  contrast  the  affections  with  the  sensations,  which 
James  calls  '  substantive  '  facts  of  consciousness. 

Reflective  introspection  thus  discloses  that  affections  are 
not  invariably  present,  and  that  they  occur  in  close  rela- 
tion with  non-affective  experiences.  We  have  now  to  go 
beyond  mere  introspection,  and  to  discover,  if  we  can,  the 
physical  stimuli  and  the  physiological  excitations  of  the 
affections.  At  once  there  appears  a  marked  distinction 
between  sensational  and  affective  elements.     For  the  affec- 

1  "  Physiologische  Psychologic,"  4te  Aufl.,  I.,  p.  281. 


Physical  Condition  1 1 5 

tions  have  no  definite  physical  stimulus,  no  distinct  form 
of  physical  energy  which  corresponds  with  them,  in  the 
way  in  which  vibrations  of  the  ether  normally  condition 
sensations  of  color,  and  atmospheric  waves  condition  sen- 
sations of  sound. 

This  independence  of  physical  stimulation  is  admitted 
by  everybody,  so  far  as  the  mode  of  physical  stimulus  is 
concerned.  Ether  or  atmosphere  vibrations,  and  mechan- 
ical or  electrical,  liquid  or  gaseous,  stimulus  may  bring 
about  now  a  pleasant,  now  an  unpleasant,  n^w  a  perfectly 
indifferent,  experience.  It  is  true  that  certain  sense-quali- 
ties, pain  and  probably  also  certain  smells  and  tastes,  are 
always  unpleasant,  and  there  maybe  certain  sense-qualities 
which  are  always  pleasant ;  but,  none  the  less,  every  class 
of  sense-qualities  (except  pain)  includes  both  agreeable 
and  disagreeable  experiences ;  and  many  sense-qualities 
are  sometimes  pleasant,  at  other  times  unpleasant  and 
again  indifferent.^  It  follows,  as  has  been  said,  that  the 
affective  tone  cannot  vary  with  the  mode  of  physical 
stimulus. 

Some  psychologists  have,  however,  supposed  that  a 
definite  relation  may  be  found  between  the  degree  —  and 
possibly  also  the  duration  —  of  physical  stimulation  and 
the  affective  experience.  This  relation  is  usually  formu- 
lated as  follows :  any  stimulus  of  great  intensity,  and 
many  stimuli  of  prolonged  duration,  occasion  unpleasant- 
ness, whereas  stimuli  of  medium  intensity  bring  about 
pleasantness,  2  and  very  faint  stimuli  excite  indifferent 
experiences.  But  this  is  not  an  accurate  statement  of  the 
facts.  Both  moderate  stimuli  and  even  stimuH,  which  at 
one  time  are  strong  enough  to  be  unpleasant,  may  become 
indifferent  —  for  example,  workers  in  a  factory  may  grow 
indifferent  to  the  buzz  of  the  wheels  which  is  intolerable  to 
visitors  ;  and  low  intensities,  for  instance,  the  faint  pressure 

1  Cf.  Kiilpe,  op.  cif.,  §  37,  5  and  6.     For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  §  34. 

2  Cf.  statement  and  illustrative  diagram,  Wundt,  op.  cit.,  4te  Aufl.,  I.,  558; 
and  Kiilpe,  op.  cit.,  §  37. 


ii6  Pleasantness  and  Unpleasant7iess 

of  fingers  on  the  skin,  are  sometimes  pleasant.  The  pleas- 
antness and  unpleasantness  of  all  save  sensational  experi- 
ences of  great  intensity  seem  to  depend,  not  on  the  physical 
intensity  of  their  stimuli,  but  on  two  other  factors :  the  un- 
expectedness and  the  intermittence  of  the  stimuli.  The 
constantly  repeated  stimulus,  unless  very  strong,  is  indif- 
ferent, whereas  the  unexpected  stimulus  occasions  pleasure. 

We  have  thus  been  unsuccessful  in  the  effort  to  discover 
definite  physical  stimuli  of  the  affections.  We  have,  how- 
ever, reached  certain  positive,  though  as  yet  uncoordinated, 
results.  Very  intense  and  intermittent  stimuli  occasion 
unpleasantness;  unexpected  stimuli  of  moderate  intensity 
excite  pleasure ;  and  habitual  stimuli  are  indifferent.  A 
further  consideration  of  these  results  of  our  inquiry  leads 
us  to  a  study  of  the  physiological  conditions  of  affective 
elements  of  consciousness.  These,  however,  can  be  only 
hypothetically  assigned,  because  they  have  eluded  discovery 
by  direct  experimental  or  by  pathological  methods.  We 
must  proceed  cautiously  in  the  absence  of  direct  experi- 
ment, but  we  are  safe  in  asserting,  first  of  all,  that  there 
are  no  peripheral  or  surface  end-organs  of  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness,  since  such  end-organs  could  only  be  ex- 
cited by  special  physical  stimuli,  of  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
there  are  none.  The  physiological  excitations  of  the  affec- 
tions evidently,  therefore,  occur  within  the  brain.  It  is 
also  probable  that  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  not 
brought  about  by  the  excitation  of  the  sensory  cells  in  the 
brain,  that  is,  of  the  cells  directly  connected  by  afferent 
nerves  with  the  surface  end-organs.  For  variation  in  the 
locality  of  these  functioning  cells,  in  the  degree  of  their 
excitation,  and  in  the  number  excited,  have  been  seen  to 
correspond,  in  all  probability,  with  sensational  qualities, 
intensities  and  extensities. 

Bearing  in  mind  that  any  theory  of  physiological  condi- 
tions is  uncertain,  until  it  has  been  verified  by  experimental 
observation,  we  may  still  profitably  guess  at  the  physio- 


PJiysiological  Condition  1 1  7 

logical  basis  for  the  affections.  In  the  writer's  opinion,  the 
most  plausible  account  of  this  physiological  condition  is 
the  following  :  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  occa- 
sioned by  the  excitation  of  fresh  or  of  fatigued  cells  in  the 
frontal  lobes  of  the  brain,  and  this  frontal  lobe  excitation 
is  conveyed  by  fibres  from  the  motor  cells  of  the  Rolandic 
area  of  the  brain.  When  the  cells  of  the  frontal  lobes, 
because  of  their  well-nourished  and  unfatigued  condition, 
react  more  than  adequately  to  the  excitation  which  is 
conveyed  to  them  from  the  Rolandic  area,  an  experience 
of  pleasantness  occurs ;  when,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cells 
of  the  frontal  lobe,  because  they  are  ill-nourished  and 
exhausted,  react  inadequately  to  the  excitation  from  the 
Rolandic  area,  then  the  affection  is  of  unpleasantness ; 
when,  finally,  the  activity  of  frontal  lobe  cells  corresponds 
exactly  to  that  of  the  excitation,  the  given  experience  is 
neither  pleasant  nor  unpleasant,  but  indifferent. 

Important  considerations  favor  this  theory.  It  accords, 
in  the  first  place,  with  an  established  fact  concerning  the 
structure  of  the  brain  :  the  area  about  the  fissure  of  Rolando 
is  known  to  be  closely  connected  with  every  sensory  centre 
of  the  brain,  arid  to  be  connected  also  with  the  frontal 
lobes  ;  a  stimulation  from  without,  conveyed  to  a  sense- 
centre  of  the  brain,  would  be  likely,  therefore,  to  spread  to 
the  Rolandic  centre,  and  might  be  carried  even  further  to 
the  frontal  lobes. 

There  is,  moreover,  a  certain  antecedent  probability  that 
the  excitation  of  cells  of  the  frontal  lobes  should  condition 
the  affections :  the  fact  that  sensations  are  conditioned  by  the 
excitation,  not  of  fibres-,  but  of  cells  in  the  brain,  suggests 
the  probability  that  the  affections  also  are  occasioned 
by  cell-activity ;  but  it  has  been  found  to  be  probable  that 
excitation  of  cells  in  the  sense-centres  does  not  condition 
the  affections ;  there  remain  the  cells  of  the  two  associa- 
tion-centres, as  Flechsig  calls  them,^  and  it  is  likely  that 

1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  I.,  I. 


ii8  Pleasantness  and  Unpleasaiitness 

the  forward  association-centre,  namely,  the  frontal  lobes, 
rather  than  the  hind  association-centre  should  be  the  area  of 
the  excitations  of  affective  experience.  One  reason  for  this 
conclusion  is  the  following :  the  affections  are,  as  we  have 
seen,  very  inconstant  elements  of  our  consciousness,  that 
is  to  say,  we  often  have  perfectly  indifferent  experiences, 
and  the  frontal  association-centre  has  least  connections 
with  the  rest  of  the  brain,  and  is  therefore  most  likely  not 
to  be  excited  at  a  given  moment.  The  study  of  diseased 
brains  has  shown,  moreover,^  that  injury  to  the  frontal 
lobes  has  been  accompanied  by  derangements  of  the 
emotional  life. 

This  theory,  in  the  third  place,  accords  well  with  the 
observation  that  motor  bodily  changes  are  the  constant 
correlates  of  pleasant  and  unpleasant  states  of  mind. 
Everybody  realizes  that  he  holds  his  head  higher,  makes 
more  vigorous  movements^  and  often  breathes  more  deeply 
when  he  is  pleased  than  when  he  is  sorry. 

Our  theory,  furthermore,  relates  pleasantness  and  un- 
pleasantness to  admitted  and  constant  bodily  processes, 
nutrition  and  waste,  or  anabolism  and  catabolism.  For 
it  explains  the  adequate  and  inadequate  response  of  cells 
in  the  frontal  lobes  to  excitation  from  the  Rolandic  area,  as 
due  to  their  well  or  ill  nourished  condition,  that  is,  to  the 
sufficient  or  insufficient  supply  of  oxidated  blood. 

The  theory,  finally,  can  account  in  a  general  way  for 
those  puzzling  facts  of  the  affective  experience  disclosed 
by  our  unavailing  search  for  a  definite  physical  stimulation. 
These  facts,  with  the  corresponding  explanations,  may  be 
grouped  as  follows  :  ( i )  Every  mode  of  physical  stimulus 
may  occasion  either  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness,  be- 
cause an  excitation  may  be  carried  from  any  sensory  centre 
through  the  Rolandic  area  to  the  frontal  lobes.  (2)  No 
stimulus  is  invariably  pleasant  or  unpleasant  because  the 


1  Flechsig,  "  Gehirn  u.  Seele,"  pp.  89  seq. 

2  For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  §  36. 


Physiological  Condition  119 

frontal  lobes  are  not  so  closely  connected  as  other  centres 
with  all  parts  of  the  brain,  '''(s)  Novel  stimuli,  unless  over 
strong  or  greatly  prolonged,  occasion  pleasure,  because  the 
infrequency  of  the  stimulus  gives  opportunity  for  the  com- 
plete nutrition  and  upbuilding  of  cells  in  the  frontal  lobes. 
(4)  Great  degrees  of  physical  stimulation,  if  they  are  not 
habitual,  occasion  a  feeling  of  unpleasantness,  because 
they  invariably  spread  to  the  frontal  lobes,  which  prob- 
ably are  readily  fatigued.  Prolonged  stimulation  may  have 
a  similar  effect.  (5)  Intermittent  stimuli  are  perhaps  un- 
pleasant for  the  following  reason  :  they  require  constant 
changes  of  muscular  adjustment,  for  example,  changes  in 
the  muscles  which  focus  the  eye ;  this  muscular  work 
makes  unusual  draughts  on  the  blood-supply,  and  the 
frontal  lobes  are  not,  therefore,  in  an  adequately  nour- 
ished condition.  The  following  analogy  (6)  may  partially 
explain  the  indifference  of  habitual  stimuli.  Repeated 
acts  tend  to  become  unconscious ;  and  this  means  that  the 
lower  centres  (through  which  excitations  pass  to  the  brain), 
not  the  brain-centres  themselves,  are  excited.  In  a  similar 
way,  it  may  be  that  repeated  stimuli  excite  only  the  sen- 
sory and  motor  centres,  and  are  not  carried  through  them 
to  the  remoter  frontal  lobes. 

This  theory  of  the  physiological  conditions  of  pleasant- 
ness and  unpleasantness  is  thus  supported  by  a  general 
correspondence  with  the  facts  of  brain  anatomy,  and  by 
the  facility  with  which  it  explains  the  known  relations  of 
intense,  prolonged,  novel  and  habitual  stimuli  to  affective 
experience.  Two  objections  to  the  theory  must  be  briefly 
considered. 1  It  is  urged  that  unpleasantness  accompanies 
not  merely  over-exertion  (as  this  hypothesis  supposes),  but 
under  exercise  as  well ;  the  enforced  quiet  of  the  school- 
room, for  example,  is  intensely  unpleasant  to  the  active 
child.  To  this  it  may  be  replied  that,  even  in  such  situa- 
tions, certain  organs  of  the  body  are  actually  overstrained. 

1  Cf.  Marshall,  op.  ciL,  Chapter  IV.,  §§  12  and  13. 


I20  Pleasantness  a7id  Unpleasantness 

For  instance,  the  flexing  muscles  by  which  the  child  checks 
the  swinging  of  his  feet  may  be  strained  in  his  efforts  to 
be  quiet.  This  would  indirectly  produce  the  overstimula- 
tion of  motor  brain-centres,  and  thus  the  overstimulation 
and  consequent  inadequate  reaction  of  the  frontal  lobes. 
The  opposite  difficulty,  that  extremes  of  bodily  exercise 
are  sometimes  pleasant,  may  be  met  by  the  supposition 
that  in  these  cases  the  frontal  lobes,  through  some  internal 
conditions,  are  especially  well  nourished,  so  that  they  are 
unfatigued  in  spite  of  the  high  degree  of  bodily  activity. 

This  theory  of  the  physiological  basis  of  affection  will 
be  better  understood  by  comparison  with  certain  theories 
which  it  closely  resembles.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  compos- 
ite of  important  features  of  the  teaching  of  Miinsterberg, 
Wundt,  Flechsig  and  Marshall. 

Pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  (which  Marshall  names 
'  pain  ')  depend,  according  to  the  Marshall  theory,  upon  the 
ease  or  difficulty  with  which  any  bodily  organ  reacts  to 
the  physical  stimulus  of  any  moment ;  this  ease  or  diffi- 
culty depends  upon  the  '  stored  force '  of  the  stimulated 
organ  ;  and  this  force  finally  depends  upon  the  nutriment 
of  the  organ.  Marshall's  condensation  of  the  theory  is 
the  following:  "Pleasure  is  produced  by  the  use  of  sur- 
plus stored  force  in  the  organ  determining  the  content ; 
and  pain  is  determined  by  the  reception  of  a  stimulus  to 
which  the  organ  is  incapable  of  reacting  completely.  In- 
difference occurs  where  the  reaction  is  exactly  equalized  to 
the  stimulus."  ^  From  this  Marshall  theory,  we  have  bor- 
rowed the  conception  of  unpleasantness  and  pleasantness 
as  indirectly  due  to  exhaustion  and  vigor,  and  as  depend- 
ent not  on  the  absolute  degree  of  reaction  but  on  the 
relation  of  reaction  to  stimulus.  The  Marshall  theory, 
however,  differs  from  that  of  this  book  in  an  important 
feature.  It  supposes  that  the  motor  reaction  of  any  organ, 
of  eye  or  hand,  for  example,  not  the  excitation  of  frontal 

1  "  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  /Esthetics,"  Chapter  V.,  §  3,  p.  222. 


Theories  of  Physiological  Condition        i  2  i 

lobes,  occasions  the  affection.  The  main  reason  for  reject- 
ing this  feature  of  the  theory  is  the  fact  that  the  motor 
reactions  of  bodily  organs  directly  stimulate,  so  far  as  we 
know,  no  other  organs  than  the  pressure  end-organs  of 
joints,  tendons,  muscles  and  skin.  Unless,  therefore,  we 
suppose  some  additional  cerebral  condition,  such  as  the 
one  outlined  by  our  own  theory,  the  motor  reactions  would 
occasion  only  pressure-sensations. 

This  difficulty  is  met  by  Titchener's  combination  of 
Wundt's  and  Flechsig's  teaching  with  Marshall's.  Titch- 
ener  supposes  ^  the  affection  to  be  occasioned  not  by  the 
well  or  ill  nourished  condition  of  some  one  organ  of  the 
body,  but  by  the  general  effect  produced  by  every  stimulus 
upon  the  nervous  system  of  the  body  as  a  whole,  and  thus, 
indirectly,  upon  the  frontal  lobes.  This  general  effect  is 
either  "the  building-up  process  (anabolism)  or  the  break- 
ing-down process  (catabolism).  .  .  .  The  conscious  pro- 
cesses," he  says,  "corresponding  to  the  general  processes 
thus  set  up  by  stimuli,  are  termed  affections."  The  affec- 
tions, moreover,  he  points  out,  are  closely  related  to  motor 
excitations.  The  theory  of  this  book,  while  resembling 
Titchener's,  teaches  that  the  well  or  ill  nourished  condition 
of  the  frontal  lobes  of  the  brain,  the  immediate  occasion  of 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness,  does  not  always  corre- 
spond exactly  with  the  general  process  —  anabolic  or  cata- 
bolic  —  of  the  body  as  a  whole. 

Our  theory,  finally,  resembles  Munsterberg's,  in  that  he 
teaches  that  the  excitation  of  motor  structures  in  the  brain 
conditions  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness.  He  does  not, 
however,  suppose  any  excitation  of  the  frontal  lobes  as 
immediate  occasion  of  affective  experience  ;  and  his  motor 
hypothesis  is  more  detailed  than  that  of  this  book,  for  he 
holds  that  the  innervation  of  cells  and  fibres  connected  with 
the  extensor  muscles  conditions  pleasantness,  and  that  the 
excitation  of  cells  and  fibres  connected  with  the  flexor  mus- 

1  "Outline,"  §§31,  32,  3J(2). 


12  2  Pleasantness  and  Unpleasantness 

cles  conditions  unpleasantness.  The  theory  is  based  on 
experimental  observations.  A  long  succession  of  daily- 
records  of  the  errors  in  distance-estimation  in  certain  simple 
movements  unexpectedly  disclosed  the  following  facts : 
(i)  In  moods  of  pleasure  these  movements  tended  to  be  in 
excess  of  the  normal  and  (2)  in  depressed  moods,  the  errors 
tended  in  the  opposite  direction.^  From  these  results, 
which  are  supported  by  biological  considerations,  Miin- 
sterberg  concludes  that  excitation  of  extensor  and  of  flexor 
muscles  conditions  pleasant  and  unpleasant  experiences 
respectively.  It  is,  however,  more  likely  that  the  vigor- 
ous contraction  of  any  muscle,  flexor  or  extensor,  is  the 
accompaniment  of  pleasure,^  and  that  the  phenomenon 
observed  by  Miinsterberg  is  due  to  the  fact,  that  the  normal 
position  of  many  muscles  is  relative  flexion,  so  that  slight 
motions  are  more  apt  to  be  those  of  the  flexor  muscles. 

The  discussion  of  the  physiological  conditions  of  affec- 
tion suggests  certain  considerations  bearing  on  two  dis- 
puted problems  of  introspection.  The  first  is  the  question 
of  the  number  of  affective  elements.  If  these  are  physio- 
logically conditioned  by  the  opposite  processes  of  upbuild- 
ing and  dissimilation  in  the  frontal  lobes,  then  there  is 
physiological  support  for  the  introspective  conclusion  that 
there  are  two,  and  only  two,  affections,  pleasantness  and 
unpleasantness. 

The  second  of  these  problems  may  be  stated  thus  :  is 
any  experience  at  one  and  the  same  moment  both  pleasant 
and  unpleasant }  Unquestionably,  we  usually  suppose  that 
such  a  combination  of  affections  is  possible.  More  than 
one  poet  has  repeated  Dante  s  assertion  that  sorrow's  crown 
of  sorrow  is  the  memory  of  happy  days ;  and  literature  is 
full  of  such  expressions  as  the  exclamation  of  Constance, 
in  "  King  John"  :  — 

1  "  Beitrage  zur  Psychologic,"  IV.,  216.  For  experiment  cf.  Titchener,  §  35. 
See  also  Primer,  §  26. 

2  Cf.  Lange,  "Ueber  Gemiithsbewegungen,"  p.  19. 


Pleasantness  and  Unpleasantness  123 

"  Then  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief." 

Many  psychologists,  nevertheless,  insist  that  the  mixed  emo- 
tion is  impossible.  "  The  total  feeling  of  a  given  moment," 
Titchener  declares,^  "  must  be  either  pleasant  or  unpleasant ; 
it  cannot  be  both."  He  proceeds  to  explain  the  apparent 
combination  of  pleasure  and  unpleasantness  in  one  experi- 
ence as  a  "quick  alternation  of  pleasurable  and  unpleasurable 
—  a  see-saw  of  joy  and  sorrow — in  which  now  the  pleasur- 
ble,  now  the  painful,  factor  is  uppermost."  The  argument 
most  emphasized  by  Titchener,  for  this  incompatibility  of 
the  two  affections,  is  physiological  in  its  nature.  He  holds, 
as  we  have  seen,  that  the  condition  of  the  body  as  a  whole, 
either  the  upbuilding  (anaboHc)  or  the  decaying  (catabolic) 
condition  must  be  uppermost,  if  indeed  they  do  not  equal- 
ize each  other.  On  this  supposition,  therefore,  the  result- 
ing affection  must  at  any  given  moment  be  agreeableness 
or  disagreeableness.  On  the  theory,  however,  which  we 
have  adopted,  some  of  the  frontal-lobe  cells  may  be  in  a 
well-nourished  condition,  and  their  action  may  therefore 
be  unfatigued,  whereas  other  cells  in  the  frontal  lobes 
may  respond  in  an  inadequate  manner.  The  result  in 
consciousness  would  be  a  mixed  emotion,  both  pleasant 
and  unpleasant.  It  must  be  admitted,  therefore,  that  the 
testimony,  on  this  point,  of  everyday  observation  and  of 
Hterature  is  capable  also  of  justification  from  the  stand- 
point of  physiology. 

No  attempt  will  be  made  to  discuss  the  occurrence  and 
the  nature  of  affection-intensities.  There  may  be  such 
intensities,  but  introspection  is  at  this  point  so  difficult 
that  the  limits  of  this  book  preclude  consideration  of  the 
question. 

Our  more  positive,  though  still,  in  great  part,  hypo- 
thetical conclusions,  are  therefore  the  following :  we  find 
in  our  conscious  experience  two  distinct  and  unanalyzable 

1  "Primer,"  §  65. 


1 24  Feelings  of  Realness 

feelings,  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness,  the  affective 
elements.  These  are  (i)  introspectively  distinguished 
from  the  sensational  elements,  in  that  they  are  not  always 
present  and  are  reflectively  observed  to  '  belong  to '  other 
elements.  They  are  probably  (2)  physiologically  con- 
ditioned, not  by  any  modification  of  peripheral  end- 
organs,  of  afferent  fibres  or  of  sensory  brain-cells,  but  by 
the  excitation  of  well  or  ill  nourished  cells  in  the  frontal 
lobes,  directly  excited  by  fibres  from  motor  cells  in  the 
Rolandic  area.  There  is  (3)  no  definite  form  of  physical 
energy  which  conditions  the  affective  elements. 

n.    The  Feelings  of  Realness 

Allied  with  the  affections,  the  feelings  of  pleasantness 
and  unpleasantness,  is  another  elemental  experience,  the 
'feeling  of  realness.'  We  can  most  readily  illustrate  it  by 
a  contrast.  If  I  compare  my  memory-image  of  the  ruins 
at  Tiryns  or  of  the  Doge's  palace,  which  I  have  seen  or  of 
which  I  have  read  descriptions,  with  my  image  of  the 
towers  of  Kubla  Khan  or  of  Camelot,  I  shall  find  embedded 
in  the  first  experience  a  certain  elemental  consciousness, 
a  feeHng  of  realness,  as  we  have  called  it,  utterly  lacking 
in  the  poetry  images.  It  is  an  '  ultimate  and  primordial ' 
experience,  as  Stuart  Mill  says,^  '  a  state  of  consciousness 
sni  generis,'  to  quote  James.^  "It  cannot  be  explained," 
Baldwin  rightly  comments,  "  any  more  than  any  other  feel- 
ing, it  must  be  felt."^ 

For  two  reasons,  the  feeling  of  realness  is  classed  as 
coordinate  with  the  affections.  Like  the  feelings  of  pleas- 
antness and  unpleasantness,  it  is  always  realized  as  belong- 
ing to  some  element  or  complex  of  elements.  There  is 
always  a  something  which  is  real :  a  '  real '  mouse  or 
explosion  or  smell  of  onion.     Like  the  affections,  also,  and 

1  Note  to  James  Mill.  "  Analysis  of  Human  Mind,"  Vol.  I.,  j).  412. 

2  "  Piinciples,"  Vol.  IL,  p.  287.  ^  »  Feelings  and  Will,"  p.  155. 


Feelings  of  Re  a  lues  s  i  2  5 

unlike  the  sensations,  the  feeling  of  realness  is  not  always 
present :  one  may  look  at  objects  or  imagine  scenes  with- 
out at  the  same  time  feeling  their  reality.  This  last 
assertion  is  sometimes  disputed,  and  it  must  therefore 
be  illustrated  in  some  detail. 

We  are  often,  as  has  been  said,  conscious  of  things 
which  do  not  seem  to  us  either  'real'  or  'unreal,'  but 
which  simply  seem  to  be  what  they  are,  for  example,  red, 
smooth,  fragrant,  pleasant  and  familiar,  without  our  being 
at  the  moment  conscious  either  of  their  reality  or  their 
unreality.  It  is  in  truth  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that 
every  fact  of  even  the  adult  consciousness  is  invariably 
tagged  with  the  epithet  'real'  or  'unreal.'  True,  a 
given  experience  may  always,  in  our  adult  life,  seem  real 
or  unreal  to  us  ;  but  there  is  every  reason  to  suppose  that 
we  have  hosts  of  experiences,  unclouded  by  a  feeling 
either  of  their  realness  or  their  unrealness.  The  aesthetic 
consciousness  is  a  good  example.  Our  enjoyment  of  a 
beautiful  scene  or  object  ncAcr  goes  hand  in  hand  with  an 
estimate  of  its  reality.  For  this,  as  we  shall  later  see,^ 
accompanies  the  recognition  of  an  idea  as  connected  or 
congruent,  whereas  the  beautiful  object  is  always  a  self- 
sufficient,  isolated,  unrelated  thing.  To  be  always  con- 
cerning oneself  about  reality  is,  indeed,  an  unhealthy, 
narrowing  and  spoil-sport  sort  of  existence.  We  all  know 
the  literal,  conscientious  type  of  person  who  breaks  the 
spell  which  the  "Arabian  Nights"  or  "Alice  in  Wonder- 
land "  casts  about  us,  by  the  stupid  observation  that  it  is 
none  of  it  real.  Thus  challenged,  we  reply  indignantly 
that  it  is  all  very  real ;  .yet  the  truth  is,  probably,  that  we 
have  up  to  this  time  been  utterly  unconscious  of  either  the 
reality  or  the  unreality  of  the  story  which  we  have  been 
living  through. 

By  all  these  illustrations,  we  must  try  to  drive  home 
the  truth  that  one  is  often   conscious  of  things  without, 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XXL,  p.  304. 


126  Feelings  of  Realness 

at  the  moment,  feeling  either  their  reahiess  or  their  unreal- 
ness.  The  feehng  of  the  not-real  is  evidently  a  composite 
of  the  consciousness  of  opposition  and  the  consciousness  of 
reality.  The  two  experiences  grow  up,  side  by  side,  for 
I  am  never  conscious  of  unrealness  without  being  at  the 
same  time  conscious  of  an  opposite  realness.  I  am  con- 
scious, for  example,  that  Bacon  did  not  really  write  "  The 
Tempest "  because  of  my  consciousness  that  Shakespeare 
really  did  write  it. 

We  must  next  observe  that  neither  the  feeling  of  realness 
nor  the  feeling  of  unrealness  can  be  a  first  experience  in 
any  hfe,  because  both  are  learned  through  experience  of 
such  contrasts  as  that  between  percept  and  image,  fulfil- 
ment and  hope,  execution  and  volition.  In  illustration 
of  the  fact  that  the  feeling  of  unrealness  is  not  a  primitive 
experience,  James  supposes ^  'a  new-born  mind  '  for  whom 
experience  has  begun  'in  the  form  of  a  visual  impression 
of  a  hallucinatory  candle.'  "  What  possible  sense,"  he  asks, 
"  for  that  mind  would  a  suspicion  have  that  the  candle  was 
not  real  .''...  When  we,  the  onlooking  psychologists,  say 
that  it  is  unreal,  we  mean  something  quite  definite,  viz.,  that 
there  is  a  world  known  to  us  which  is  real,  and  to  which 
we  perceive  that  the  candle  does  not  belong.  ...  By 
hypothesis,  however,  the  mind  which  sees  the  candle  can 
spin  no  such  considerations  about  it,  for  of  other  facts, 
actual  or  possible,  it  has  no  inkling  whatever.  The  candle 
is  its  all,  its  absolute.  Its  entire  faculty  of  attention  is 
absorbed  by  it." 

From  the  correct  doctrine  that  the  naive  mind  has  no 
inkhng  of  an  unreality,  James  and  Baldwin  and  other 
psychologists  draw  the  erroneous  conclusion  that  the 
undisputed,  uncontradicted  facts  of  the  primitive  con- 
sciousness are  felt  as  real.  The  *'  new-born  mind," 
James  says,  "cannot  help  believing  the  candle  real," 
because,  "  the  primitive  impulse  is  to  afiirm  the  reahty  of 

'  Op.  cit..  Vol.  II.,  p.  287. 


Feelings  of  Rcalncss  127 

all  that  is  conceived."  But  the  proof  that  no  primitive 
idea  is  thought  of  as  unreal  falls  far  short  of  a  proof 
that  it  is  thought  of  as  real ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  our 
observation  of  ordinary  experience  has  shown  us  many 
instances  in  which  we  are  conscious  neither  of  realness 
nor  of  unrealness. 

There  is  no  specific  physical  stimulus  to  the  feehng  of 
realness,  and  in  the  utter  absence  of  experimental  observa- 
tion, it  is  idle  to  attempt  to  assign  its  psychological  condi- 
tion. There  is,  however,  reason  to  suppose  that  excitation 
of  motor  cells  and  fibres  of  the  brain  is  involved ;  and  this 
supposition  is  in  accord  with  the  doctrine  that  affections 
and  the  feeling  of  realness  are  allied. 


CHAPTER   X 
RELATIONAL   ELEMENTS   OF   CONSCIOUSNESS 

We  have  thus  distinguished,  in  our  everyday  experience, 
certain  irreducible  elements,  sensational  and  affective.  The 
question,  however,  remains,  Are  there  any  other  elements 
of  consciousness,  that  is,  are  there  any  simple  and  distinct 
experiences  which  are  not  to  be  classed  as  sensational 
elements,  of  quahty,  intensity  or  extensity,  or  as  affective 
elements  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness?  Two 
schools  of  psychologists  answer  this  question  by  a  decided 
negative,  and  we  must  carefully  consider  the  position  of 
each  of  these  groups. 

Most  of  those  who  are  somewhat  inaccurately  named 
•sensationaUsts'  assert,  as  unequivocal  result  of  their 
introspection,  that  all  contents  of  consciousness,  the  most 
soaring  fancies,  the  most  subtle  speculations,  as  well  as 
the  most  ordinary  percepts  and  the  most  primitive  feelings, 
are  reducible  in  the  end  to  merely  sensational  and  affective 
constituents :  to  colors,  sounds  and  smells,  to  organic  and 
joint  sensations,  to  visual,  auditory  and  motor  word-images, 
and  to  feelings  of  pleasure  and  unpleasantness. 

The  intellectualists  bring  forward  a  very  different  theory. 
They  teach  that  our  consciousness  includes  far  more  than 
mere  sensations  and  affections,  a  knowledge,  namely,  of 
relations  and  '  forms '  of  thought,  but  that  this  conscious- 
ness of  relation  is  a  higher  order  of  psychic  reahty  than 
the  mere  sensation  or  affection,  so  that  it  may  not  be 
named  an  element  of  consciousness. 

To  this  second  theory  we  have  the  right  to  interpose  an 
immediate  objection.     It  is  certainly  inconsistent  to  make 

128 


Relational  Elcuicuts  ^.  129 

use  of  the  conception  of  conscious  elements  and  at  the  same 
time  to  Hmit  the  range  of  its  application.  Either  it  is 
altogether  unjustifiable  to  regard  consciousness  as  a  com- 
plex of  analyzable  elements,  or  else,  if  it  is  admitted  to  be 
proper  to  analyze  conscious  contents  into  sensational  and 
affective  elements,  it  is  also  necessary,  if  introspection  dis- 
closes other  unanalyzable  contents,  such  as  '  like '  and 
'  more,'  to  admit  that  they  also  are  elements.  The  intel- 
lectualist  says  in  effect,  "While  you  are  treating  of  per- 
ceptual and  even  of  emotional  experience,  you  may  regard 
consciousness  as  a  succession  of  percepts,  images  and  emo- 
tions, and  you  may  analyze  these  into  their  elements ;  but 
when  you  come  upon  a  judgment,  a  memory  or  a  volition, 
and  are  conscious  of  other  than  sensational  and  affective  ex- 
perience, you  must  change  your  point  of  view  and  drop  your 
conception  of  elements,  and  talk  only  of  forms  of  thought 
or  mental  activities."  But  this,  as  we  have  seen,  is  illogical. 
The  method  is  valid  throughout  or  it  is  utterly  invalid.^ 

The  intellectualist  theory  in  psychology  is  practically 
always  due  to  a  confusion  of  metaphysics  with  psychology. 
It  may  be  traced  back  at  least  to  Plato's  undervaluation  of 
sense-realities,  and  in  modern  times  it  is  clearly  discernible 
in  Descartes's  exaltation  of  reason,  in  Spinoza's  treat- 
,ment  of  sense  as  illusion,  and  in  the  curious  opposition  of 
truths  of  reason  to  matters  of  fact,  by  which  Leibniz  con- 
tradicts his  own  doctrine  of  the  unity  of  sense  and  thought. 
The  opposition  of  thought  to  sense  forms  the  foundation 
of  Wolffian  philosophy  and  psychology,  but  its  influence 
on  modern  thought  is  most  pronounced  in  the  Kantian 
doctrine  of  the  categories,  or  forms  of  thought,  opposed  to 
the  matter  of  sense. 

Admitting  that  the  intellectualists  are  clearly  wrong  in 
their  theory,  that  psychology  must  recognize  *  forms  of 
thought '  in  addition  to  elements  of  consciousness,  sensa- 
tional and  affective,  our  next  question  is,  Are  the  sensa- 

1  Cf.  "  Elements  of  Conscious  Complexes,"  by  M.  W.  Calkins,  Psychologi- 
cal Revie%v,  VII.,  387. 

K 


1 30  Relational  Elements 

tionalists  right  in  asserting  that  sensational  and  affective 
elements  of  consciousness  are  the  only  ones  ?  The  writer 
of  this  book  is  convinced  that  the  introspective  analysis  of 
sensationalists  is  inadequate.  It  fails  to  recognize  certain 
undoubted  experiences,  which  are  not  completely  described 
when  the  sensational  and  affective  elements  entering  into 
them  have  been  fully  enumerated.  This  means,  of  course, 
that  there  are  elements  of  consciousness  other  than  the 
sensational  and  affective  ones.  We  shall  call  them  '  rela- 
tional elements,'  and  shall  later  attempt  to  justify  the  name. 
When,  for  example,  I  try  to  match  one  blue  with  another, 
the  blueness,  the  colorless  light,  the  brightness  and  the  ex- 
tensity  are  not  the  only  elements  of  my  consciousness.  On 
the  contrary,  the  consciousness  of  the  Hkeness  or  difference 
of  the  given  blue,  as  compared  with  the  standard,  is  the  very 
essence  of  this  experience.  Again,  when  I  see  a  famiUar 
picture,  in  the  Salon  Carre,  my  idea  includes,  not  merely  ( i ) 
the  elements  of  color  and  form, flesh  tints,  dull  blue,  bending 
figures  and  the  like,  (2)  the  verbal  image  of  the  names  of 
pictures  and  painter,  "  Holy  Family  "  by  Andrea  del  Sarto, 
.(3)  the  organic  sensations  due  to  my  relaxed  attitude  as  I 
come  upon  a  well-known  picture,  and,  finally,  (4)  a  feehng  of 
pleasure.  Besides  all  these,  and  distinct  from  them,  there 
is  in  this  experience  a  certain  feeling  of  familiarity  which 
can  neither  be  identified  with  sensation  and  affection  nor 
even  be  reduced  to  them. 

An  attempt  to  enumerate  the  relational  elements  dis- 
closes extraordinary  obstacles.  They  have,  as  will  later 
be  explained,  no  special  physical  stimuh,  and  they  are 
physiologically  conditioned  by  brain  changes  only,  and  not 
by  any  changes  of  nerve  end-organs.  For  this  reason, 
these  relational  elements  cannot  easily  be  isolated  and  varied 
by  experimental  devices  ;  for  experiment,  as  we  have  seen, 
must  be  applied  to  the  stimuli  of  physical  phenomena,  and 
not  directly  to  the  facts  of  consciousness  themselves.^     In 

1  Cf.  Chapter  i.,  p.  ii. 


Relational  Elements  131 

our  study  of  these  relational  elements,  we  are,  therefore, 
for  the  most  part  thrown  back  upon  individual  introspec- 
tion, notoriously  untrustworthy  and  at  this  point  especially 
difificult.  We  are  thus  Hkely  to  mistake  a  relatively  simple 
and  yet  analyzable  experience  for  one  which  is  really 
elemental.  For  all  these  reasons,  it  is  unwise  to  attempt 
a  complete  classification  of  relational  elements.  The 
following  enumeration  is  merely  tentative ;  it  is  probably 
incomplete,  and  it  very  likely  includes  feelings  which  are 
not  entirely  simple.  The  experiences  which  it  names  are, 
however,  irreducible  to  merely  sensational  and  affective 
elements.  The  feelings  of  '  one '  and  of  '  many '  are 
peculiarly  constant  elements  of  this  class,  that  is,  they 
seem  to  lie  at  the  basis  of  most  complex  relational  experi- 
ences. What  James  calls  the  feelings  of  '  and '  and  of 
'but,' — that  is,  the  consciousness  of  connection  and  of 
opposition,  —  and  the  feelings  of  '  like  '  and  of  '  different,' 
of  '  more  '  and  of  '  less,'  are  certainly  relational  experiences 
and  are  probably  also  elemental.  Our  study  of  complex 
conscious  experiences  will  disclose  certain  simple  combina- 
tions of  these  elements  as  constituents  of  perception,  of 
recognition  and  of  thought.  Thus,  we  shall  find  recog- 
nition distinguished  by  a  feeling  of  familiarity,  and  though 
this  is  no  elemental  experience,  we  shall  find  that  it  must 
contain  relational  elements.  What  is  known  as  judgment 
involves  a  feeling  of  wholeness  ;  generahzation  includes  a 
feehng  of  generality  ;  even  perception  and  imagination  are 
distinguished,  we  shall  find,  by  certain  feelings  of  combina- 
tion and  of  limitedness.  Our  later  discussion  of  these 
complex  experiences  will,  therefore,  include  a  closer  study 
of  the  relational  elements  embedded  in  them. 

The  most  vigorous  upholder  of  this  theory  of  relational 
elements  is  William  James.  "We  ought  to  say,"  he  in- 
sists, "  a  feeling  of  and,  a  feeling  of  if,  a  feehng  of  but  and 
a  feeling  of  by,  quite  as  readily  as  we  say  a  feeling  of  blue 
or  a  feehng  of  coldT  He  attributes  the  ordinary  denial  of 
these  experiences  to  the  difficulty  of  introspecting  them, 


132  Relational  Elements 

and  the  consequent  lack  of  names  for  many  of  them.  It 
should  be  added,  however,  that  certain  sensationalists,  as 
James  points  out,^  admit  the  existence  of  relational  ele- 
ments. Prominent  among  these  writers  is  Herbert  Spen- 
cer, who,  in  spite  of  his  baffling  terminology,  clearly  teaches 
that  there  are  '  relational  feelings '  as  well  as  '  conspicuous 
feelings'  (sensations  and  affections). 

Admitting  the  existence  of  relational  elements,  whether 
or  not  we  can  exhaustively  enumerate  them,  we  have  next 
to  discover,  if  we  can,  the  characteristics  which  mark  them 
off  from  the  simple  sensational  and  attributive  experiences. 
This  is  not,  indeed,  an  easy  task.  But  it  cannot  be  too 
often  repeated  that  an  obstinately  realized  difference  be- 
tween one  set  of  psychic  phenomena  and  another,  even  if 
the  difference  cannot  be  analyzed  and  explained,  is  never- 
theless a  sufficient  reason  for  distinguishing  the  experi- 
ences. Now  there  certainly  is  a  recognized  difference 
between  the  feelings  of  '  like,'  '  more  '  and  '  one,'  and  the 
feelings  of  '  red,'  '  warm  '  and  '  pleasant ' ;  and  this  differ- 
ence in  itself  suffices  to  mark  these  off  as  distinct  groups 
of  conscious  elements. 

We  may,  however,  suggest  an  explanation  of  this  real- 
ized difference.  The  relational  elements,  like  the  attrib- 
utive, are  not  necessarily  present  in  all  our  experience, 
though  unquestionably  they  almost  invariably  occur.  The 
utterly  undiscriminated  experience,  the  conscious  content 
without  observed  oneness,  hkeness  or  difference,  in  a 
word,  devoid  of  relational  elements,  is  certainly  possible. 
The  animal  consciousness,  the  baby  consciousness  and  the 
sleepy  consciousness  probably  approximate  to  this  type. 
From  'attributive,'  as  well  as  from  'sensational,'  elements, 
relational  elements  are  furthermore  distinguished  by  an- 
other characteristic  :  each  seems,  as  we  reflect  upon  it,  to 
be  closely  connected  with  more  than  one  other  conscious 
experience.     The  feelings  of  '  and,'  of  '  Uke  '  and  of  '  dif- 

1  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I.,  p.  247,  note. 


Relational  Elements  133 

ferent '  obviously  require  the  presence  of  at  least  two  facts 
which  are  alike,  different,  united  or  contrasted.  The  feel- 
ings of  '  more  '  and  '  less  '  imply  a  standard  and  a  com- 
pared fact ;  and  each  relational  feeling  '  belongs,'  as  it  were, 
to  these  other  feelings. 

There  is  one  apparent  exception  to  this  statement.  The 
feeling  of  'one'  or  '  single'  is  a  relational  experience,  which 
certainly  does  not  seem  to  '  belong  to '  more  than  one 
feeling  other  than  itself.  It  may  be  pointed  out,  how- 
ever, that  we  never  actually  have  the  feeling  of  *  one ' 
except  as  the  consciousness  of  one  in  contrast  with  many, 
and  that,  therefore,  the  feeling  of  'one'  itself  requires  a 
complex  experience. 

It    is    furthermore    true    that    relational    feelings    are, 
ordinarily,  less  prominent  and   less   attended  to  than  the 
other  experiences  to  which  they  are  supposed  to  'belong.' 
James  has  laid  stress  on  this  characteristic,  noticing  espe- 
cially  the   greater   duration   of  the   unrelational    feelings, 
or  '  substantive  parts  of  the  stream  of  thought,'  as  he  calls 
them,  as  compared  with  the  relational  or — in  his  terms 
—  the   'transitive'   states.      "As   we  take,"   he  says,   "a 
o-eneral  view  of   the  wonderful  stream  of  our  conscious- 
ness,   what   strikes   us   first   is   this   different    pace   of    its 
parts.      Like  a  bird's  life,  it  seems  to  be  made  of  an  alter- 
nation of  flights  and  perchings.      The  resting-places  are 
usually  occupied  by  sensorial  imaginations  of  some  sort, 
whose    peculiarity    is    that  they  can  be    held  before  the 
mind   for    an    indefinite  time,   and    contemplated   without 
changing;    the   places   of    flight   are   filled   with   thoughts 
of  relations,   static  and   dynamic,   that  for  the    most  part 
obtain  between   the  matters  contemplated  in  the  periods 
of    comparative   rest.     Let   us   call  the    restijig-places    the 
'substantive  parts,'  and  the  places  of  flight  the  'transitive 
parts,'  of  the  stream  of  thought.''     This   greater  stability 
and  self-dependence  of   the  unrelational    experiences  ex- 
plains  the   difficulty   of    introspecting   relational    feelings. 
We    are    so    full    of    interest    in    the    colors    which    are 


134  Relational  Elements 

different,  the  sounds  which  are  identical,  or  the  emotions 
which  are  alike,  that  feelings  of  difference,  identity  and 
likeness  are,  as  James  says,^  quite  eclipsed  and  swallowed 
up  in  the  color,  sound  or  emotion.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
we  lose  consciousness  of  the  feelings  to  which  the  rela- 
tional element  belongs,  this  must  vanish  with  them  ;  as  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  likeness  which  is  not  the  likeness  of 
something  to  something  else.  "  Let  any  one,"  James  says, 
"  try  to  cut  a  thought  across  in  the  middle  and  get  a  look 
at  its  section,  and  he  will  see  how  difficult  the  introspective 
observation  of  the  transitive  tracts  is.  The  rush  of  the 
thought  is  so  headlong  that  it  almost  always  brings  us  up 
at  the  conclusion  before  we  can  arrest  it.  Or,  if  our  pur- 
pose is  nimble  enough  and  we  do  arrest  it,  it  ceases  forth- 
with to  be  itself.  As  a  snowflake  crystal  caught  in  the 
warm  hand  is  no  longer  a  crystal  but  a  drop,  so,  instead  of 
catching  the  feeling  of  relation  moving  to  its  term,  we  find 
we  have  caught  some  substantive  thing,  usually  the  last 
word  we  were  pronouncing,  statically  taken,  and  with  its 
function,  tendency  and  particular  meaning  in  the  sentence 
quite  evaporated." 

Spencer's  term,  'relational  feeling,'  has  been  adopted 
in  this  book,  in  place  of  the  equivalent  expression, 
'  transitive  feeling,'  usually  employed  by  James,  because 
the  term  *  transitive '  is  based  merely  on  the  supposedly 
short  duration  and  the  temporally  midway  position  of 
the  conscious  state  and  its  brain  process.  This  over- 
looks the  possibility  that  one  may  be  simultaneously 
conscious  of  relational  feeling  and  of  its  terms,  as 
when,  in  an  indivisible  moment,  one  is  conscious  of 
the  present  recognized  percept  and  its  likeness  to  past 
experience.  The  essential  feature  is  neither  the  dura- 
tion nor  the  position  of  the  relational  element,  but  the 
fact  that  the  relational  element  is  recognized  as  '  belong- 
ing '  to  others,  as  occurring  only  in  connection  with  them. 

1  C/.  cit.,  Vol.  I,,  p.  244, 


Relational  Elcmeiits  135 

The  relational  element,  it  should  be  noted,  occurs  not 
only  with  emotional  and  affective  elements,  but  also  in 
connection  with  other  relational  experiences.  We  may  be 
conscious,  for  example,  of  the  likeness  of  the  feeling  of 
familiarity  with  that  of  sameness. 

There  certainly  are  no  specific  forms  of  physical  energy 
which  correspond  with  the  relational  feelings  of  '  like,' 
'whole,'  'more'  and  the  rest.  For  every  known  kind, 
degree  and  amount  of  physical  force  conditions  a  sensa- 
tional experience  which  may  occur  without  relational  feel- 
ing, or  which,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be  accompanied  by 
any  one  of  many  relational  feelings.  The  physical  phe- 
nomenon cannot,  therefore,  be  considered  the  condition  of 
the  relational  feeling. 

As  there  are  no  external  physical  stimuli,  so  also  there 
are  no  end-organs  of  relational  elements.  The  physiologi- 
cal changes  which  condition  them  must,  therefore,  lie 
within  the  brain.  These  conditions  are  not  definitely 
known,  but  two  hypotheses  may  be  advanced.  The  rela- 
tional elements  may  be  conditioned  not  by  nerve-cell 
activity,  but  by  the  excitation  of  so-called  '  association- 
fibres  '  connecting  different  brain  areas  with  each  other. 
This  is  the  theory  suggested  by  James.  It  must  be  sup- 
plemented, if  Flechsig's  results  are  accepted,  by  the  theory 
that  the  excitation,  not  only  of  the  nerve-fibres,  but  of  the 
nerve-cells,  in  the  association-centres  ^  is  a  condition  of 
the  '  relational '  experience.  The  brain  condition  of  the 
relational  element  differs,  on  this  view,  from  that  of  the 
sensational  consciousness,  in  that  the  latter  involves  the  ex- 
citation of  ingoing  fibres  and  of  cells  in  the  '  sensory ' 
centres  of  the  brain  in  which  these  fibres  terminate ; 
whereas  the  former  demands  the  excitation  of  connecting 
fibres  and  of  cells  in  the  association-centres,  which  are 
not  directly  connected  with  outside  bodily  organs. 

^  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  III,  p.  459, 


1 36  Relational  Elements 

To  recapitulate  :  we  find  that  we  have  experiences  which 
are  not  wholly  reducible  to  sensational  and  affective  ele- 
ments. We  thus  establish  the  existence,  in  our  conscious- 
ness, of  relational  elements.  These  relational  elements 
(i)  are  not  invariably  present,  and  they  seem  to  'belong 
to '  other  elements  or  ideas  with  which  they  occur.  They 
are  (2)  physiologically  conditioned  by  excitation  of  con- 
necting fibres  and  probably  also  of  association-centre  cells. 
They  have  (3)  no  specific  physical  condition. 


CHAPTER    XI 

ATTENTION 

This  chapter  discusses  a  difificult  problem,  and  we  find 
ourselves,  as  we  approach  it,  in  immediate  perplexity,  a 
prey  not  merely  to  conflicting  theories,  but  to  doubts  and 
indecisions  of  our  own.  Our  problem  concerns  the  nature 
of  attention  and  of  the  idea  attended-to.  Psychologists  who 
consider  consciousness  as  the  experience  of  a  self  use  the 
former  term  ;  those  who  regard  consciousness  as  a  mere 
series  of  ideas  should  use  the  latter  or  one  of  its  equiva- 
lents ;  we,  who  admit  the  validity  of  both  conceptions,^ 
shall  shift  our  point  of  view,  with  the  idiomatic  turns  of 
the  English  tongue,  and  shall  speak  now  of  attention  and 
again  of  the  idea  as  attended-to.  The  term  '  attention  '  is 
a  psychological  synonym  of  the  expression  '  interest.'  To 
be  attended-to  means  precisely  to  be  interesting.  The  com- 
mon theory,  that  uninteresting  things  may  be  attended-to, 
is  therefore,  in  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  entirely  errone- 
ous. Things  which  are  naturally  uninteresting,  such  as  dull 
books  or  difificult  problems,  may,  it  is  true,  be  attended-to, 
but  they  grow  interesting  in  the  process  ;  for  being  inter- 
ested and  attending  are  one  and  the  same  experience. 
Naturally  uninteresting  topics  do  usually,  it  is  true,  lose 
their  temporary,  acquired  interest,  but  this  happens  only  in 
so  far  as  they  become  unattended-to.^ 

In  a  strict  and  limited  sense,  the  attended-to  or  interest- 
ing is  a  relational  experience,  elemental  or  at  least  very 
simple.       '  Clear '    and    '  vivid '    are    other    synonyms    of 

1  Cf.  Chapter  I.,  p.  6,  and  Chapter  XII. 

2  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  VII. 

137 


138  Atte7ition  or  Interest 

attended-to  and  interesting,  in  this  narrow  use  of  the  terms. 
The  last  paragraph  of  this  chapter  will  indicate  a  broader 
conception  of  interest,  or  attention. 

An  account  of  matters  of  general  agreement  shall  intro- 
duce our  study.  Psychologists  teach  that  every  sort  of 
conscious  experience  may  be  interesting  or  attended-to. 
Pleasant  and  unpleasant  things,  beautiful  and  ugly  objects, 
varied  and  monotonous  scenes  alike  may  be  attended-to. 
The  interesting  experience  always  is,  however,  a  nar- 
row or  limited  part  of  the  total  experience  of  a  given 
moment.  The  darkness,  the  dull  sounds  and  the  faint 
odors  of  the  room  are  present  to  my  consciousness  but 
uninteresting :  only  this  one  bit  of  experience,  the  flash  of 
light,  is  vivid  or  attended-to.  This  narrowness  of  the 
fact  attended-to  is  evidently  a  constant  characteristic. 
Not  the  entire  scene  spread  out  before  me  and  stimulat- 
ing my  retina,  but  some  one  object,  as  the  moving  figure, 
or  the  brightly  colored  cloud,  not  the  complete  harmony  of 
voices  and  instruments,  but  the  liquid  note  of  the  harp  or 
the  soaring  tenor  voice  —  are  the  '  attended-to  '  or  interest- 
ing parts  of  my  total  consciousness.  Experimental  observa- 
tion,^ which  has  greatly  concerned  itself  with  this  question, 
has  found  that  one  can  attend  to  a  limited  number  only  of 
distinguishable  impressions  :  to  four  or  five  visual  impres- 
sions and  to  eight  auditory  impressions.  In  all  these  cases 
the  different  impressions  are  realized  as  making  up  one 
complex.  From  this  limitation  of  the  extent  of  an  object 
of  attention,  it  follows  that  attention  to  one  subject  always 
implies  inattention  to  another.  The  '  absent-minded  '  per- 
son, who  is  blind  and  deaf  to  the  sights  and  sounds  of  his 
environment,  is  inattentive  to  them  precisely  because  he  is 
attentive  to  something  else,  for  example,  to  some  imag- 
ined scene  or  some  ideal  project. 

/All   psychologists    are    agreed,    furthermore,   in    distin- 
guishing two  sorts  of  attention,  passive  and  active,  as  they 

1  For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  §  38,  Exp.  4,  p.  113.     Cf.  also  Titchener, 
"  Outline,"  42;   James,  cp.  cit,.  Vol.  I.,  pp.  405  seq. 


Attention  or  Interest  1 39 

are  usually  named/*  These  precise  terms  must  be  aban- 
doned, for  they  have  either  a  metaphysical  meaning  which 
plainly  disqualifies  them  for  psychology,  or  else  they  are 
applicable,  not  to  psychical,  but  to  purely  physical,  phe- 
nomena, /^he  distinction  which  they  indicate  is,  however, 
an  actual  one;  it  is  that,  namely,  between  (i)  natural  or 
primary,  and  (2)  acquired  or  secondary  attention.  For 
example,  brilliant  colors,  moving  objects,  sounds,  even 
faint  ones,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  and  pleasant  or 
unpleasant  situations  are  naturally  and  primarily  interest- 
ing or  attended-to  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  monotonous 
percepts  or  images  and  relational  ideas,  such  as  ideas  of 
difference  or  of  causal  connection,  are  secondarily,  not 
naturally,  interesting  or  vivid.  We  may  classify  these 
types  of  interest  or  attention  as  follows :  — 

I.    Natural  or  Primary  Attention  or  Interest,  in 
(a)  The  Unusual  (including  the  Intense), 
{J})  The  Instinctively  Interesting. 

II.    Acquired  or  Secondary  Attention. 

Everybody  will  admit  that  a  relational  experience,  the 
consciousness,  for  example,  of  likeness  or  of  generality  is 
secondarily  and  seldom,  if  ever,  naturally  interesting. 
Yet,  not  all  sensational  experiences  are  primarily  inter- 
esting. Unusual  things,  however,  including  intense  sense- 
stimuli,  are  always  interesting,  standing  out  in  sharp 
contrast  to  their  commonplace  background/"  As  we  say, 
we  cannot  help  attending  to  bright  colors,  loud  sounds  and 
intense  odors. 

Under  the  head  of  instinctively  interesting  experiences, 
we  vaguely  mass  together  all  those  whose  vividness  is  un- 
questionably primary  yet  psychologically  inexplicable.  I 
know  that  the  nest  full  of  eggs  is  an  *  utterly  fascinating ' 
object  to  the  broody  hen,  that  scarlet  is  hatefully  interest- 
ing to  bulls  and  entirely  indifferent  to  sheep,  that  I  cannot 
keep  my  eyes  from  the  waves  that  are  breaking  on  the 


140  Attention  or  Interest 

shore,  whereas  my  neighbors  are  tranquilly  playing  cards 
or  making  Battenberg  lace.  Biologically,  I  may  assign 
a  reason  for  each  of  these  interests,  but  psychologically, 
from  my  own  introspection  or  inference,  they  are  inex- 
plicable. The  hen  attends  to  the  eggs,  the  bull  to  the 
scarlet  parasol,  I  to  the  beating  waves  —  because  we  must; 
we  are  interested  —  because  we  are  interested!  One  is 
either  veiling  one's  ignorance  by  a  word,  or  else  one  is 
appealing  to  biology,  when  one  names  these  interests 
instinctive. 

The  existence  of  acquired  interests  attests,  it  should  be 
added,  the  capacity  for  intellectual  development.  For 
education  is  a  widening  as  well  as  a  deepening  of  one's 
interests  ;  it  not  only  lays  emphasis  upon  the  natural  and 
instinctive  interests,  but  creates  new  interests  as  well,  sup- 
plementing the  primary  attention  to  glowing  colors,  loud 
sounds  and  instinctively  attractive  objects  by  acquired 
interests  in  likeness,  contrasts  and  causes. 

We  are  ready  now  to  discuss  the  nature  of  attention,  in 
its  primary  meaning  of  clearness  or  vividness.  We  have 
already  defined  it  as  a  relational  experience,  elemental  or 
very  simple.  Whatever  the  stage  of  attention,  natural  or 
acquired,  and  whatever  the  object  of  attention,  flash  of 
light  or  Greek  word  or  nebular  hypothesis,  the  attended-to 
experience  includes  a  certain  attribute  of  clearness  which 
simply  does  not  belong  to  the  unattended-to  or  uninterest- 
ing. The  presence  of  such  a  feeling  of  clearness  becomes 
evident,  if  we  compare  a  moment  of  attention  with  the 
dazed  and  sleepy  consciousness  of  the  barely  wakened 
moments.^  The  attentive  or  interested  consciousness  of 
lights,  sounds  and  odors  differs,  on  this  view,  from  the 
sleepy  consciousness  in  that  it  contains  this  distinct  ele- 
ment, 'vividness'  or  'clearness,'  radically  different  from 
sensational  and  affective  elements  of  consciousness. 

Another  way  of  bringing  out  the  relational  nature   of 

1  Cf.  James,  op.  cit..  Vol.  I.,  ji.  404,  for  mere  suggestion  of  this  contrast. 
For  experiment,  cf.  Titchener,  Laboratory  Manual,  Exp.  i,  p.  no. 


Attention  or  Interest  141 

clearness  is  the  negative  method  of  considering-  different 
accounts  of  this  attention-feeling.  Some  psychologists 
have  suggested  that  attention  is  virtually  another  name  for 
affection  :  the  interesting,  or  attended-to,  is  that  which  is 
either  pleasant  or  unpleasant ;  inattention  is  mere  indiffer- 
ence ;  the  apparently  indifferent  object  which  is  attended- 
to  is  really,  for  the  moment,  faintly  pleasant  or  unpleasant ; 
and  this  affective  tone  is  its  interestingness.^  The  chief 
objection  to  this  theory  is  the  introspective  discovery  that 
we  do  sometimes  attend  to  experiences  which  are  not 
affectively  toned,  in  other  words,  that  psychic  facts,  neither 
l)leasant  nor  unpleasant,  are  nevertheless  vivid.  The  most 
striking  illustrations  of  this  fact  are  found  within  the  circle 
of  our  habitual  experiences.  A  well-known  phrase,  how- 
ever insignificant,  will  catch  the  attention  in  a  context  of 
far  greater  emotional  value,  and  an  aesthetically  indifferent 
face,  if  familiar,  may  be  attended-to.  Most,  if  not  all, 
primarily  interesting  experiences  are  pleasant  or  unpleas- 
ant, whereas  many  acquired  interests  are  indifferent.  The 
arithmetic  lesson,  the  list  of  prepositions  and  the  butcher's 
book,  which  were  utterly  uninteresting,  may  become  the 
objects  of  attentive  study  and  still  remain  indifferent. 

It  is  fair  then  to  conclude  that  clearness,  or  attention  in 
the  narrow  sense,  is  not  identical  with  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness,  that  is  to  say,  that  it  is  no  affective  expe- 
rience. We  have  next  to  show  that  clearness  is  not 
sensational.  It  has  sometimes  been  confounded  with  sense- 
intensity,  but  the  two  are  utterly  unhke.  As  Miinsterberg 
says,^  "  The  vivid  impression  of  a  weak  sound  and  the  faint 
impression  of  a  strong,  sound  are  in  no  way  interchange- 
able. .  .  .  The  white  impression  when  it  loses  vividness 
does  not  become  gray,  and  finally  black,  nor  the  large  size 
small,  nor  the  hot   lukewarm."     But   though  a  faint  im- 

1  Cf.  Titchener,  "  Primer,"  §  t^t^.  Titchener,  however,  in  other  passages 
suggests  a  view  of  attention  as  clearness  —  resuUing  in  motor  accompaniments, 
permanence,  etc.  —  wliich  is  somewhat  like  that  of  this  book.  Cf.  "Outline," 
§38;  "  Experimental  Tsychology,  Qualitative,  Student's  Manual,"  §  38,  p.  109. 

•2  «  Psychology  and  Life,"  p.  86. 


142  Attention  or  Interest 

pression  does  not  gain  in  intensity,  it  may  gain  in  interest, 
that  is  it  may  be  better  attended-to.  The  truth  is,  there- 
fore, that  both  intense  and  dull  experiences  are  attended-to ; 
and  this  shows  that  intensity  is  not  identical  with  clearness, 
that  is,  with  elemental  attention.  By  a  parallel  argument 
it  may  be  shown  that  clearness,  in  this  sense  of  interest, 
and  visual  clearness  of  outHne  are  not  identical,  for  we  may 
attend  to  very  vaguely  outlined  and  indistinct  objects,  for 
example,  to  shadowy  figures  on  a  dark  night. 

Of  course  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  objects  of  attention 
are  very  often  intense  and  clear  in  outline.  Indeed,  the  in- 
tensity and  visual  distinctness  are,  in  a  way,  the  results  of  the 
relational  clearness  or  attention.  For  example,  we  change 
the  accommodation  of  our  eyes  in  order  to  obtain  a  dis- 
tincter  outline  of  the  object  which  interests  us,  and  we 
turn  our  heads  that  the  music  to  which  we  are  attending 
may  seem  louder.  Even  a  faint  experience,  therefore,  has, 
if  attended-to,  the  greatest  intensity  possible.  These  motor 
results  or  accompaniments  are  often  known  as  marks  of 
attention. 

Still  another  result  of  the  clearness  of  an  experience  is 
its  relatively  long  duration.  We  make  bodily  movements 
to  prolong  it,  if  it  is  a  sense-experience  —  for  example,  we 
follow  a  moving  light  with  our  eyes  ;  and,  whatever  its 
nature,  it  has  a  tendency  to  persist  in  the  memory.  To 
say  that  interest  or  attention  is  relatively  prolonged  con- 
tradicts, we  must  admit,  the  constant  assertion  of  psycholo- 
gists, that  the  duration  of  attention  is  limited.^  Now  it  is 
true  that  a  sensational  impression  retains  its  intensity  for 
no  more  than  five  or  six  seconds.^  The  fixated  object 
grows  alternately  bright  and  dull,  and  the  sound  to  which 
we  listen  is  now  loud  and  again  soft.  But  these  phenom- 
ena, classed  as  fluctuations  of  attention,  are  really  only 
fluctuations  in  sensational  intensity,  due  to  the  periodic 
exhaustion  of  the  functioning  brain-cells;  and  sense-inten- 

1  Cf.,  for  example,  James,  op.  cit.,Vo\.  I.,  p.  420;  Titchener,  "Outline," 
§  41.  2  cf.  Titchener,  "  Primer,"  §  36. 


Attention  or  Interest  143 

sity  differs  utterly,  as  we  have  seen,  from  clearness,  the 
attention-element. 

We  have  thus  distinguished,  first,  the  attention-element, 
clearness,  second,  the  narrowness  of  the  experience  to  which 
this  element  attaches  itself,  and  third,  two  results  of  the 
clearness:  the  relative  intensity,  and  the  relatively  long 
duration  of  the  clear  or  attended-to  experience.  There  are 
two  more  important  results  of  the  clearness  of  an  experi- 
ence. An  idea  which  is  clear,  or  attended-to,  does  not 
merely  persist  in  consciousness  immediately  after  it  occurs, 
but  it  is  likely  to  be  recalled  again  and  again.  It  is,  fur- 
thermore, peculiarly  suggestive  both  of  sensational  facts 
and  of  relational  experience.  As  suggestive  of  relational 
experiences,  one  says  that  the  interesting  object  is  "thought 
about."  This  suggestiveness,  of  whatever  type,  distin- 
guishes the  interesting  from  the  uninteresting  experience. 
It  should  be  noticed  that  these  results  of  the  clearness  of 
an  experience,  its  aptness  to  be  recalled  and  its  suggestive- 
ness, differ  from  the  results  first  mentioned,  in  that  they 
cannot  be  fully  realized  till  long  after  the  moment  of 
attention. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  verify  this  description  of  at- 
tention with  its  accompaniments  and  results,  by  the  study 
of  a  typical  instance  of  each  sort  of  attention.  Suppose,  in 
the  first  place,  that  one  attends  to  an  electric  light  in  a 
dark  room.  This  is  evidently  a  case  of  primitive  or  natural 
attention.  It  involves,  first  of  all,  the  attention-feeling  of 
clearness  or  distinctness.  This  feeling,  furthermore,  attaches 
only  to  a  limited  part  of  the  total  object  of  consciousness. 
The  idea  attended-to  has  in  itself  sense-intensity,  but,  more 
than  this,  if  the  light  is  stationary,  the  impression  has  the 
clearness  of  outline  due  to  good  fixation,  and  if  it  swings  to 
and  fro,  the  impression  is  relatively  prolonged,  for  one  fol- 
lows the  light  with  one's  eyes.  Undoubtedly,  this  experi- 
ence is  more  hkely  to  be  recalled  than  the  other  parts  of  the 
room-idea,  for  example  the  consciousness  of  the  darkness, 


144  Attention  or  Interest 

the  faint  sounds,  and  the  odors.  The  idea  as  attended-to 
is,  finally,  suggestive  both  of  sensational  facts  —  for  exam- 
ple, of  a  locomotive  headlight  or  of  the  moon  —  and  of 
relational  experience,  as  when  one  thinks  of  the  electric 
light  as  unlike  a  gas  jet,  or  as  caused  by  the  contact  of  a  car- 
bon filament  with  an  electrically  charged  platinum  wire. 

We  may  now  proceed  to  analyze  a  vivid  fact  of  the  other 
type,  that  is,  an  instance  of  acquired  or  secondary  attention. 
Let  us  suppose  the  case  of  a  Httle  schoolboy  who  attends 
to  a  page  of  his  spelling  book.  His  consciousness  of  the 
printed  words  has,  in  the  first  place,  the  attention-feeling  of 
relational  clearness  ;  and  this  feeling  is  evidently  combined 
with  a  limited  part  only,  the  printed  page,  out  of  the  rich 
total  of  sound  and  color  and  movement  within  the  school- 
room. The  word-images  have  not,  of  course,  any  sense- 
intensity,  but  they  do  possess  the  visual  distinctness  due 
to  good  fixation  ;  not  until  he  grows  inattentive  does  the 
page  grow  blurred  and  dim  before  his  eyes.  The  sight  of 
the  page  is,  moreover,  prolonged,  not  only  because  the  boy 
follows  the  words  from  left  to  right  with  his  eye-move- 
ments, and  because  he  checks  the  movements  of  his  head 
and  eyes  in  other  directions,  but  because  he  has  after-images 
of  the  words,  as  he  closes  his  eyes,  and  because  the  words 
persist  in  his  memory.  The  later  results  of  clearness  are 
as  easily  discovered,  in  this  instance  of  attention  and  its 
consequents.  The  words  of  this  spelling  lesson,  so  far  as 
they  have  been  attended-to,  will,  in  the  first  place,  be  re- 
called when  the  ten  thousand  other  impressions  of  the 
moment,  the  buzzing  of  the  flies,  the  singsong  recitations 
and  the  teacher's  shell  comb,  have  been  eternally  forgotten. 
The  words  of  the  spelling  lesson  are,  furthermore,  richly 
suggestive,  both  of  the  concrete  objects  which  they  de- 
scribe, and  of  other  words  with  which  they  are  compared 
and  related. 

To  complete  the  verification  of  our  definition,  let  us 
finally  consider  the  case  in  which  the  secondarily  attended- 
to  fact  is  an  image,  not  a  percept.     Our  schoolboy,  grown 


Attention  or  Interest  145 

in  years  and  in  discretion,  is  attending,  let  us  say,  to  an 
imagined  triangle  in  demonstration  of  Euklid's  fifth  propo- 
sition. The  experience,  of  course,  includes  the  attention- 
feeling  of  clearness,  and  the  idea,  of  which  this  is  a  part,  is 
a  limited  portion  of  the  boy's  total  consciousness,  a  mere 
speck  upon  a  variegated  background  of  colored,  sounding, 
fragrant  objects  to  which  he  has  learned  to  be  inattentive. 
The  outline  of  the  imagined  triangle  may  be  visually  indis- 
tinct, but  if  the  boy  has  a  strong  visual  imagination,  or  if 
he  closes  his  eyes  and  stops  his  ears  to  shut  out  conflicting 
sensations,  the  outline  is  likely  to  be  distinct.  (Of  course 
the  adjustment  of  eye-muscles,  so  important  in  securing 
visual  distinctness,  is  lacking,  yet  there  are  certain  motor 
accompaniments  of  secondary  attention,  both  inhibitory 
movements,  such  as  closing  the  eyes  and  stopping  the 
ears,  and  an  upward  movement  of  the  scalp,  first  described 
by  Fechner,  but  verifiable  by  almost  anybody.^)  The 
imaged  triangle  is  evidently,  in  the  second  place,  prolonged, 
not  through  any  motions  of  eye  or  head  or  hand,  but 
through  the  persistence  of  the  image.  The  attentive 
schoolboy  keeps  on  thinking  of  his  triangle  ;  the  image 
of  it  is  no  mere  fleeting  shape  in  a  kaleidoscopic  shifting 
of  scenes,  but  an  object  of  consciousness  which  is  relatively 
stable  and  fixed.  This  continuance  of  the  image  is,  in 
fact,  the  most  obvious  characteristic  of  secondary  attention. 
To  hold  the  thought  to  a  given  subject  is  the  great  problem 
of  acquired  attention,  and  the  wandering  mind  and  roving 
thought  are  justly  become  synonyms  of  inattention.  Evi- 
dently, therefore,  the  imaged  triangle  is  a  clear,  narrow, 
and  prolonged  fact  of  consciousness.  The  fact  that  it  is 
also  readily  recalled  and  suggestive,  both  of  mere  images 
and  of  thoughts,  is  too  obvious  for  further  comment. 

We  have,  up  to  this  point,  regardecj^attention  as  a  simple 
relational  experience,  that  of  clearness,  with  certain  signifi- 

1  Cf.  James,  op.  fit.,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  435  seq. 


146  Attention  or  Interest 

cant  results,  first,  relative  intensity  and  duration,  and  second, 
'  revivability '  and  suggestiveness.  It  is,  however,  impor- 
tant to  add  that  the  term  'attention'  is  often  used,  in  a  very 
broad  way,  to  cover  not  only  the  attention-feeling,  clearness, 
but  the  characteristic  results  and  accompaniments  of  the 
feeling.  This  widening  of  the  term  is  due,  of  course,  to 
the  great  significance  in  practical  life  of  the  results,  espe- 
cially the  remote  results,  of  '  attention  '  in  its  narrow  sense. 
Practical  interests  almost  always  dominate  discussions 
of  attention,  and  from  the  practical  point  of  view  attention 
certainly  is  significant,  not  for  what  it  is  in  itself,  but  because 
it  is  followed  by  memory  and  thought ;  in  other  words,  it  is 
distinguished  for  its  effect  on  the  later  life.    / 


BOOK    I 
PART    II 

CONCRETE   COiNSCIOUS    EXPERIENCES 


PART    II 

CHAPTER    XII 
CONCRETE   CONSCIOUS   EXPERIENCES 

The  analysis  of  consciousness  into  its  barest  elements  is 
a  highly  artificial  process,  undertaken  merely  for  the  scien- 
tific purpose  of  exhaustively  enumerating  the  fundamental 
features  of  the  psychic  experience.  There  could  be,  how- 
ever, no  more  hopeless  error  than  the  supposition  that  this 
enumeration  completes  the  account  of  the  conscious  life. 
On  the  contrary,  consciousness,  as  we  ordinarily  know  it,  is 
significant,  not  for  its  simplicity,  but  for  its  complexity,  its 
richness,  its  confusion  ;  and  it  is  only,  as  we  have  seen,  by 
an  effort  that  we  '  tease  out '  of  it,  with  the  psychological 
scalpel  of  attentive  introspection,  the  minute  fibres  of  which 
it  is  interwoven.  We  have  now,  however,  concluded  this 
'post  mortem'  study,  as  James  calls  it,  of  those  'artificial 
abstractions,'  the  structural  elements  of  consciousness,  and 
we  turn,  therefore,  to  the  consideration  of  our  "entire  con- 
scious states  as  they  are  concretely  given  to  us." 

We  shall  study  these  concrete  experiences  from  two 
points  of  view.  In  the  first  place,  we  shall  regard  each 
one  of  them  without  reference  to  any  self,  as  an  idea,  a 
fact  of  consciousness,  occurring  in  a  series  of  ideas.  We 
shall  next,  however,  consider  each  experience  as  relation 
of  a  self  to  other  selves,  and  shall  distinguish  it  from  dif- 
ferent forms  of  consciousness  by  the  nature  of  this  relation. 


Every  conscious  experience,  in  the  first  place,  may  be 
considered  without  explicit  reference  to  any  self,  as  an 

149 


I50 


Ideas 


idea,  a  content-of-consciousness,  a  percept,  emotion  or 
volition,  belonging  to  a  shifting  series  of  ideas.  When  we 
study  psychology  solely  from  this  point  of  view,  we  isolate 
the  experiences  from  the  self  who  has  them,  somewhat  as 
a  botanist  may  pick  a  leaf  and  examine  it  under  his  micro- 
scope, without,  at  the  moment,  considering  the  branch  or 
tree  from  which  he  has  picked  it.  I  study  a  percept,  for 
instance,  or  a  memory,  without  laying  any  stress  on  the 
fact  that  it  is  my  experience.  I  analyze  it  with  as  imper- 
sonal an  attitude  as  that  with  which  the  chemist  heats  his 
potassium  chlorate  that  it  may  give  off  oxygen. 

Scientific  acquaintance  with  an  idea,  thus  defined,  in- 
cludes two  factors :  first,  the  complete  analysis  into  the 
structural  elements,  sensational,  attributive  and  relational, 
of  which  it  is  composed  ;  second,  the  explanation  of  the 
fact  by  connecting  it  with  some  preceding  fact,  psychical 
or  physiological.  My  image,  for  instance,  of  Rossetti's 
great  picture,  "  Dante's  Dream,"  is  analyzed  into  struc- 
tural elements  of  rich  color  and  graceful  form  ;  and  is  ex- 
plained in  two  ways  :  by  connecting  it  with  my  immediately 
preceding  percept  of  a  red-bound  copy  of  Dante's  "  Vita 
Nuova,"  and  also  by  referring  it  to  the  excitation  of  nerve- 
cells  and  connecting  fibres  in  the  visual  brain-centres. 

At  this  point  it  will  be  well  to  call  attention  to  the  use, 
in  this  book,  of  certain  common  expressions.  The  word 
'  idea '  is  applied  to  any  complex  experience  regarded  as 
one  term  in  a  succession.  The  word  '  feeling  '  is  used,  in 
a  very  general  way,  of  any  conscious  experience ;  it  may, 
therefore,  be  applied  both  to  the  complex  idea  and  to  the 
simple  element  of  consciousness.^ 

II 

The  conception  of  consciousness  as  a  mere  series  of 
ideas  connected  with  each  other  is  a  perfectly  consistent 
doctrine  of  the  widest  application.     There  is  no  founda- 

1  Cf.  James,  op.  cit..  Vol.  I.,  pp.  185-186. 


Selves  1 5 1 

tion  for  the  opinion,  sometimes  expressed,  that  only  per- 
cepts and  images  may  be  regarded  from  this  point  of  view. 
On  the  contrary,  every  conscious  experience,  emotion,  and 
volition,  as  well  as  percept  and  image,  may  be  looked  at  as 
an  'idea,'  that  is,  a  member  of  an  idea-series,  without  any 
reference  at  all  to  any  self.  Yet  such  a  treatment  of  con- 
scious experience  loses  sight  of  the  truth  that  every  idea 
is,  after  all,  the  experience  of  a  self  who  is  conscious. 
Even  when,  as  students  of  the  mere  idea,  we  have  neglected 
the  self  and  taken  no  notice  of  it,  yet  all  the  time  we  have 
been  dimly  conscious  of  it  as  underlying  all  our  feelings. 
In  other  words,  we  have  realized  that  a  perception,  an 
imagination  or  an  emotion  does  not  exist  independently, 
but  that  it  is  my  perception,  your  imagination  or  his  emo- 
tion. As  James  says  :  ^  "  Every  '  state  '  or  '  thought '  is 
part  of  a  personal  consciousness.  ...  In  this  lecture- 
room,  .  .  .  there  are  a  multitude  of  thoughts,  yours  and 
mine.  .  .  .  They  are  as  little  each-for-itself  and  recipro- 
cally independent  as  they  are  all-belonging-together.  .  .  . 
My  thought  belongs  with  my  other  thoughts,  and  your 
thought  with  your  other  thoughts.  The  only  states  of 
consciousness  that  we  naturally  deal  with  are  found  in 
personal  consciousnesses,  .  .  .  selves,  concrete  particular 
I's  and  you's."  This  means  that  besides  realizing  my 
conscious  experiences,  or  feelings,  I  am  also  conscious 
of  my  conscious  self,  as  in  a  sense  including,  but  not  as 
identical  with,  the  perceptions,  the  emotions  or  the  thoughts 
of  any  given  moment. 

What,  now,  is  this  intimate  consciousness  of  self  which 
underlies  and  includes,  though  it  does  not  consist  in,  the 
moment-by-moment  ideas  and  experiences  .-•  What,  in 
other  words,  do  I  mean  by  the  '  I '  which  is  conscious  or 
has  experiences  .-*  The  effort  to  answer  this  question  dis- 
closes the  fact  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  analysis  into 
structural  elements,  the  only  description  of  self-conscious- 

1  "  Briefer  Psychology,"  p.  153. 


152  Selves  as  Related 

ness  is,  first,  as  consciousness  of  myself  contrasted  with 
other  selves,  and  second,  as  consciousness  of  my  varying 
relations  or  attitudes  to  these  other  selves. 

We  have  thus  made  the  important  discovery  of  the  es- 
sentially social  nature  of  the  self.  The  self  underlying  the 
conscious  experiences,  which  we  have  been  studying,  is  not 
a  single,  lonely  self,  but  a  self  related  to  a  group  of  selves. 
Every  self  is,  in  other  words,  a  social  self,  that  is,  a  self 
in  inextricable  relation  with  many  other  selves, 

"a  chain  of  linked  tliought, 
Of  love  and  might  to  be  divided  not." 

I,  who  read  this  paragraph,  for  instance,  simply  cannot 
be  conscious  of  my  own  self  except  as  related  in  the  most 
varying  ways  to  a  vast  number  of  other  people.  Let  one 
try  to  drop  out  of  the  consciousness  of  oneself  the  realiza- 
tion, however  vague,  of  some  or  all  of  these  relations,  the 
consciousness  that  one  is  son,  brother,  member  of  a  fra- 
ternity, student  at  a  university,  citizen  of  the  United 
States :  such  an  imagined  elimination  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  social  relationships  leaves  a  man,  in  truth,  with 
nothing  which  he  can  recognize  as  himself. 

Our  study  of  psychology  has,  in  fact,  proceeded  so  far 
as  a  sort  of  play  of  Hamlet  with  Hamlet  left  out.  We 
are  now  at  last  calling  this  neglected  hero,  the  self,  before 
the  footlights.  But,  behold,  our  leading  character  will  not 
appear  alone,  but  comes  before  the  curtain  leading  his 
company  after  him.  For  our  Hamlet  is  no  solitary  figure  ; 
he  is  the  lover  of  Ophelia,  the  friend  of  Laertes,  the  son  of 
the  murdered  king.  Take  away  these  related  persons 
and  Hamlet  also  has  disappeared  with  them  ;  some  other 
man,  but  no  longer  precisely  this  Hamlet,  is  left.  In  the 
same  way,  the  self  of  the  psychologist  is  always  a  related 
self. 

The  discovery  of  the  social  nature  of  the  self  at  once 
discloses  to  us  two  fundamental  phases  of  self-conscious- 


Relations  of  Selves  153 

ness,  an  egoistic,  imperious  phase  which  lays  emphasis 
upon  the  '  central,  everyday  self '  or  '  myself,'  and  an 
altruistic,  adoptive  phase,  an  emphasis  upon  the  other 
self,  the  you,  not  the  me.  It  is  true,  as  we  have  sc  .-n, 
that  the  one  implies  the  other,  just  as  the  north-point- 
ing pole  of  a  magnet  is  connected  with  the  south-pointing 
pole ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  one's  conscious  experience 
may  lay  special  stress  upon  the  narrower,  central  self,  or 
may  be  specially  concerned  with  the  other,  the  related 
self. 

These  terms,  'egoistic'  and  '  altruistic,'  are,  of  course,  to 
be  interpreted  in  a  strictly  psychological,  not  in  an  ethical, 
sense.  We  are  apt  to  confuse  '  egoistic '  with  '  selfish  '  and 
'  altruistic  '  with  '  unselfish,'  and  so  to  regard  the  one  as 
wrong,  the  other  as  right.  As  psychologists,  however,  we 
have  no  business  at  all  to  make  these  distinctions,  and  in 
saying  that  consciousness  is  fundamentally  egoistic  or 
altruistic,  we  mean  only  that  we  emphasize  either  ourselves 
or  the  not-ourselves,  of  our  experience.  When  I  hand  the 
morning  paper,  unopened,  to  my  father,  I  am  subordinating 
myself  to  him  ;  when  I  send  out  the  chops  because  they 
are  underdone,  I  am  laying  stress  on  my  own  desires  ; 
even  if  I  only  listen  idly  to  the  violin  practice  in  the  music 
room,  I  realize  it  as  a  fact  of  common  experience ;  and  if 
I  resent  it,  for  the  unbearable  squeak  of  the  bow  on  the 
strings,  I  am  setting  myself  against  it.  Always,  if  I  am 
conscious  at  all,  I  am  asserting  with  special  emphasis 
either  myself  and  my  concerns,  or  the  relatively-other-than- 
myself. 

There  are  other  important  distinctions,  we  shall  find, 
between  the  typical  forms  of  consciousness,  regarded  as 
the  experience  of  related  selves.  We  shall  consider  only 
two,  postponing  to  the  chapters  which  follow  a  detailed 
account  of  them.  Experiences  may  be  contrasted  as  they 
refer  to  unparticularized  other  selves,  that  is,  to  any  or  all 
selves,  or  as  they  refer  to  definite  and  particular  selves. 
In  perceiving,  for  instance,  I  am  vaguely  conscious  that 


154  Ideas  as  Psychic  Events 

other  people  might  see  what  I  am  seeing,  but  in  hating  I 
do  not  hate  anybody  in  general,  but  some  very  special  and 
definite  person  or  persons.  Conscious  experiences  are 
often  also  characterized  as  relatively  'passive  '  or  'active.' 
Perception  and  will  are  examples  of  the  two  extremes  of 
this  distinction,  which  will  later  be  more  carefully  considered. 
It  might  not  be  unreasonable  to  speak  of  the  egoistic 
and  altruistic,  the  particularizing  and  generalizing,  and  the 
passive  and  active  phases  of  consciousness,  as  its  elements. 
The  term  '  element '  is,  however,  almost  always  used  of 
what  we  have  called  the  structural  elements,  sensational, 
attributive,  and  relational.  It  is  wisest,  therefore,  not  to 
extend  the  application  of  the  term. 

Ill 

If  now  we  compare  these  ways  of  looking  at  a  psychic 
fact,  we  find  two  main  contrasts.  The  study  of  conscious- 
ness as  experience  of  a  related  self  takes  account  of  cer- 
tain facts  with  which  the  study  of  ideas  is  not  concerned  ; 
these  facts  are,  first,  the  self  which  '  has  '  ideas,  or  is  con- 
scious, and  second,  the  relations  of  this  self  to  other  selves 
and  to  ideas.  On  the  other  hand,  the  study  of  ideas,  dis- 
associated from  conscious  selves,  is  distinguished  by  a 
method  which  is  not  applicable  to  the  other  forms  of  psy- 
chology. For  ideas  are,  by  hypothesis,  psychic  events, 
which  are  distinct  yet  closely  linked  together.  Now,  to 
look  at  experience  as  a  mere  series  of  psychic  events  en- 
ables us  to  study  it  causally,  that  is,  to  consider  an  event 
of  one  moment  as  necessarily  connected  with  that  of  the 
preceding  and  with  that  of  the  following  moment.  A 
psychology  which  considers  only  psychic  events  or  con- 
sciousnesses is,  therefore,  a  causal  science ;  whereas  psy- 
chology, in  so  far  as  it  studies  selves  in  their  relations,  does 
not  treat  its  facts  as  causally  related  to  each  other,  because, 
strictly  speaking,  only  phenomena  in  time  are  causalty  con- 
nected, and  selves  are,  to  say  the  least,  not  primarily  re- 


Selves  as  Primarily    Untemporal  155 

garded  as  realities  in  time.  Anybody  may  verify  this  by 
his  introspection.  One  thinks  of  one's  body  as  beginning 
and  ending  at  distinct  moments  ;  one  thinks  of  one's  ideas 
and  feelings  as  occurring  yesterday  or  to-day  —  at  quarter 
of  twelve  or  at  half-past  three;  but  one  does  not  primarily 
regard  oneself  as  '  in  time,'  and  one,  therefore,  does  not  think 
of  selves  in  causal  relations  to  each  other.  They  are  related, 
of  course,  by  virtue  of  the  imperiousness,  the  demands, 
the  acknowledgments,  and  the  adoptions  which  make  up, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  very  nature  of  a  self ;  but  these  rela- 
tions are  not  the  causal  ones  which  connect  ideas. ^ 

But  though  these  conceptions  of  consciousness  are  so 
distinct,  they  have  yet  a  common  ground.  Whether  one 
regard  a  given  thought  or  emotion  as  idea,  without  refer- 
ence to  a  self,  or  as  a  conscious  relation  of  one  self  to 
another,  in  either  case  one  looks  upon  it  as  a  complex  con- 
sciousness analyzable  into  structural  elements,  sensational, 
attributive  or  relational.  This  has  already  been  shown 
in  the  case  of  the  mere  idea,  which  is  indeed  definable 
only  by  analysis  into  its  elements.  But  the  structural 
element  is  as  truly  a  factor  of  the  personal  consciousness  : 
emotion  is  a  happy  or  an  unhappy  relation  between  selves ; 
perception  is  a  consciousness  of  sensational  experiences 
in  common  with  other  selves.  In  a  word,  every  structural 
element  may  be  regarded  either  as  one  part  of  an  idea,  or 
as  one  way  in  which  a  self  is  conscious. 

Each  of  the  following  chapters,  therefore,  which  discusses 
a  distinct  and  concrete  conscious  experience,  will  first  con- 
sider it  briefly  as  idea,  and  will  next  describe  it  as  personal 
attitude,  but  will  ordinarily  devote  most  space  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  experience  from  the  common  point  of  view, 
as  complex  of  structural  elements. 

It  is  only  fair  to  observe,  finally,  that  some  writers  deny 
the  right  of  the  science  of  selves  to  the  name  '  psychology.' 

1  Cf.  Miinsterberg,  "  Psychology  and  Life,"  pp.  210  seq. ;  Grundziige,  S.  117. 


156  The  PsycJiological  Study  of  Selves 

Such  a  study  of  the  nature  of  selves  is  philosophy,  they 
say,  or  else  it  is  sociology,  but  it  has  no  part  nor  lot  in 
psychological  science.  We  shall  here  reply  briefly  to  the 
first  of  these  objections,  leaving  to  a  later  chapter^  the  dis- 
tinction of  the  psychology  of  selves  from  sociology  and 
from  ethics.  A  reference  to  our  introductory  chapter 
will  remind  us  that  we  defined  philosophy  as  the  study 
of  the  self-dependent,  inclusive  whole  of  reality,  or  of 
limited  facts  of  reality  in  their  relation  to  this  whole.  On 
the  other  hand,  we  defined  science  as  a  study  of  facts 
or  phenomena,  that  is,  of  limited  bits  of  reality,  taken  for 
granted  without  investigation  of  their  relation  to  the  whole 
of  reality.  Now  it  is  certain  that  consciousnesses,  or  ideas, 
regarded  without  reference  to  a  conscious  self,  may  form 
the  material  of  a  scientific  psychology ;  and  some  psy- 
chologists have  limited  the  science  to  the  study  of  these 
momentary  contents  of  consciousness,  not  regarded  as  the 
experiences  of  a  self.  But  it  is  equally  evident,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  writer,  that  selves  also  may  be  treated  as 
facts  or  phenomena,  because  they  are  certainly  taken  for 
granted  by  everyday  people,  without  inquiry  about  their 
relation  to  '  reality.'  The  most  ordinary  division  of  our 
experience  is  indeed  into  the  two  classes  '  selves '  and 
'  things  ' ;  and  everybody,  whether  or  not  he  speculates  on 
the  ultimate  nature  of  selves,  assumes  their  existence  and 
compares  them  with  each  other.  Selves,  in  other  words, 
though  they  may  be  objects  of  philosophical  study,  are 
not  merely  the  concern  of  the  philosopher,  but  form  also 
an  important  class  of  phenomena.  As  such,  they  may 
both  be  observed  from  an  uncritical,  everyday  standpoint, 
and  systematically  compared  and  classified  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  scientist. 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XXIII.,  pages  333  and  346. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

FORMS    OF   SYNTHESIS:     FUSION    AND    ASSOCIATION 

A  GENERAL  problem  still  remains  for  discussion  before 
we  turn  to  our  detailed  study  of  the  concrete  conscious 
experiences.  This  problem  concerns  the  nature  of  psychic 
synthesis  or  connection.  There  are  two  entirely  different 
ways  of  regarding  synthesis  in  psychology.  It  may  be 
subjectively  or  introspectively  considered  as  a  peculiar 
psychic  fact,  an  immediately  observed  content  of  conscious- 
ness. As  such,  it  is,  as  we  have  seen,  a  relational  and 
probably  elemental  experience  —  what  we  have  called  the 
'  feeling  of  connection  '  and  what  James  calls  the  '  feeling 
of  a7id:  This  consciousness  of  connection  is  prominent,  as 
will  later  appear,  in  judgments  and  in  general  notions, 
because  the  feeling  of  a  connection  is  precisely  what  gives 
these  experiences  their  essential  character;  in  such  complex 
contents  as  simple  percepts,  emotions  and  images,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  feeling  of  connection  is  '  swamped '  in  sen- 
sational and  affective  elements. 

But  there  is  another,  an  '  objective  '  sense  as  it  were,  in 
which  we  may  treat  of  synthesis  in  psychology.  Every 
science,  and  therefore  psychology,  assumes  facts  of  two 
sorts  :  substantive  facts  —  or  facts  in  the  ordinary  sense  — 
and  connections.  Chemistry,  for  example,  deals  with  ele- 
ments and  their  combination,  and  physics  treats  of  forces 
and  their  composition.  This  composition,  connection  or 
synthesis  need  not  be  metaphysically  explained,  but  may 
be  taken  for  granted  by  chemistry,  by  physics  and  by 
psychology  also.  In  this  sense,  the  connection  is  not  a 
peculiarly  psychic  phenomenon,  but  is  a  general  fact, 
common  to   every  science.      Connection,   moreover,  thus 

157 


158  pMsion 

regarded,  is  not  immediately  realized,  but  is  reflectively 
'  known  about '  the  connected  facts  of  consciousness.  The 
types  of  combination,  thus  objectively  regarded,  of  ele- 
ments and  complexes  of  consciousness,  form  the  topic  of 
the  present  chapter. 

The  first  of  these  is  fusion,  the  synthesis  of  peripherally 
excited,  conscious  elements.  The  combination,  for  example, 
of  the  C  and  G,  the  loudness  and  the  volume  of  a  given 
chord,  is  a  case  of  fusion ;  and  so  is  the  combination  of  the 
feehngs  of  redness,  yellowness,  colorless  light,  brightness, 
bigness,  odor,  coolness,  pressure  from  joint  and  skin 
stimulation  and  pleasure,  from  an  orange  which  one  is 
rolling  about  in  one's  hand.  The  distinguishing  charac- 
teristic of  the  fusion  is  physiological :  each  one  of  the 
combined  or  fused  elements  must  be  directly  excited  by 
the  stimulation  of  an  end-organ,  and  not  merely  indirectly 
excited  through  the  stimulation,  by  connecting  fibres,  of  the 
corresponding  brain-centres.  Evidently,  therefore,  fusion 
is  the  exact  psychic  counterpart  of  the  connection  between 
the  physical  stimulations  to  the  end-organs.  Nevertheless, 
great  care  must  be  exercised  not  to  confuse  the  psychical 
with  the  physical  combination.  For,  though  the  two  may 
correspond  exactly,  they  may  also  be  distinct.  For  exam- 
ple, a  combination  of  ether  vibrations  of  all  wave-lengths  is 
the  condition,  not  of  a  complex,  but  of  a  simple  psychic 
phenomenon,  the  sensational  element  of  colorless  light. 

Fusions  differ  from  each  other  only  in  the  degree  of 
closeness  with  which  the  diverse  elements  are  connected, 
and  this  is  tested  by  the  difficulty  of  the  analysis  in  differ- 
ent cases.  The  closest  fusions  which  we  know  are  those 
of  the  different  elements  invariably  connected  in  a  sensa- 
tion, the  quality,  intensity  and  extensity.  Almost,  if  not 
quite,  as  close  as  this  fusion  is  that  of  a  color  with  the  col- 
orless hght :  this  is  the  closest  combination  which  we  know 
of  different  qualities.  Other  examples  are  the  fusion  of 
taste  and  smell  in  many  so-called  tastes,  of  pressure  and  a 
feeling  of  temperature  in  what  is  named  touch,  and  of  the 


Fusion  159 

consciousness  of  extensity  and  pressure  in  the  experience 
of  smoothness  or  of  roughness. 

The  study  of  clangs  ^  affords  an  iHuminating  instance  of 
the  fact  that  abihty  to  analyze  a  fusion  of  elements  may 
depend  on  training  as  well  as  on  individual  capacity.  By 
a  clang,  we  mean  a  combination  of  tones  produced  by  at- 
mosphere vibrations  of  two  different  rates.  All  musical 
instruments,  for  example,  produce  clangs,  and  not  simple 
tones,  because  all  vibrating  bodies,  such  as  masses  of  air, 
strings  and  metal  rods,  vibrate  not  merely  as  wholes  but 
also  in  sections.  Now  this  complexity  of  vibration  invari- 
ably conditions,  even  in  the  untrained  observer,  the  con- 
sciousness of  what  is  called  the  characteristic  timbre  of 
the  tone  —  the  element  which  we  have  named  its  volume 
or  bigness.  The  trained  observer  can  furthermore  dis- 
tinguish, even  within  the  simplest  clang,  different  tones, 
the  fundamental  and  the  overtone.  The  easiest  way  of 
proving  this  is  to  strike  a  piano  key,  middle  C,  for  instance, 
at  the  same  time  very  gently  pressing  the  key  which 
corresponds  with  one  of  its  overtones  ■ —  say,  the  octave,  C, 
or  the  major  fifth,  G.  In  this  way,  the  damper  will  be 
removed  from  the  wire  of  this  higher  key,  yet  the  wire  will 
not  be  directly  struck.  If  now  the  key  of  the  fundamental, 
C,  be  released,  this  tone,  C,  will  no  longer  be  heard  but  the 
overtone,  G,  will  be  heard  by  itself ;  and  this  shows  that 
atmospheric  vibrations  corresponding  to  it  must  have  set 
its  wire  vibrating,  when  the  key  of  the  fundamental  was 
struck.  Experiments  with  strings,  which  vibrate  in  sec- 
tions, lead  to  the  same  result.  In  fact,  by  practice,  almost 
any  one  can  train  himself  to  analyze  the  fusion  of  tones 
in  a  simple  clang  as  well  as  in  a  chord. 

Association/the  second  form  of  synthesis,  demands  more 
detailed  consideration.  It  is  the  connection  of  elements  or 
complexes   of  consciousness,  occurring  simultaneously  or 

1  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanford,  87  a  and  88;  Titchener,  §  45. 


i6o  Fusion  and  Association 

successively,  of  which  at  least  one  (in  successive  associa- 
tion, the  second)  must  be  centrally  excited/  Here  are 
plainly  three  distinctions  between  fusion  and  association  : 
the  connected  factors  may  be  complexes  as  well  as  ele- 
ments ;  they  may  be  successive  as  well  as  simultaneous ; 
and  at  least  one  (the  second  if  there  is  a  temporal  differ- 
ence) must  occur  without  peripheral  stimulation.  This 
last  distinction  is  evidently  the  essential  one. 

The  following  table  summarizes  all  these  forms :  — 

Psychic   Synthesis^ 

I.    Fusion  (of  peripherally  excited  elements). 
II.    Association  (of  terms,  one  or  both  of  which  are  centrally  excited). 

a.  Sii/utltaneoiis. 

1.  Assimilation  (of  elements). 

2.  Complex  simultaneous  association. 

b.  Successive. 

The  simplest  form  of  simultaneous  association,  assimila- 
tion or  the  connection  between  elements,  closely  resembles 
fusion.  Every  image  and  almost  every  percept  affords  an 
example  of  it.  As  I  look  at  a  rose  or  a  bronze  or  a  fur 
rug,  I  get,  besides  color  and  form,  in  each  case,  a  distinct 
impression  of  texture.  This,  of  course,  is  without  stimula- 
tion of  end-organs  of  pressure,  and  is  thus  a  centrally  excited 
and  simultaneously  associated  or  '  assimilated  '  sensation. 
The  more  complex  form  of  simultaneous  association  is 
usually  due  to  the  persistence  of  a  successive  association  ; 
and  to  the  study  of  this  form  of  combination  we  must  there- 
fore turn. 

There  is  no  more  significant  attribute  of  our  mental  life, 
regarded  as  a  series  of  ideas,  than  the  swift  succession  of 
percepts,  images  and  emotions  of  which  it  is  made  up. 
Homer's  phrase,  '  swift  as  thought,'  is  no  mere  figure  of 
speech,  and  we  may  well  say  of  our  ideas,  what  Shakespeare 
says  of  our  minutes  :  — 

1  Cf.  Bibliography. 


Association  i6i 

"  Like  as  the  waves  make  towards  the  pebbled  shore 
So  do  our  minutes  hasten  to  tiieir  end  ; 
Each  changing  place  with  that  which  goes  before, 
In  sequent  toil  all  forwards  do  contend." 

But  between  these  swiftly  succeeding  facts  of  conscious- 
ness we  nevertheless  observe,  as  we  look  back  upon  them, 
links  and  bonds  of  connection.  I  wake  up  from  a  revery 
to  find  myself  leagues  distant  from  my  remembered  start- 
ing-point, yet  I  am  able  to  retrace  my  way,  step  by  step, 
and  I  may  find  each  idea  '  associated '  with  the  preceding. 
Not  every  observed  succession,  to  be  sure,  is  an  association. 
I  look  out,  for  example,  from  the  window  of  an  English 
railway  carriage,  and  one  object  of  consciousness  follows 
in  quick  succession  upon  another  :  railway  station,  hidden 
under  its  thatch  of  advertisements,  green  meadows  divided 
by  holly  hedges,  flocks  of  plump  sheep,  stone  towers  rising 
from  a  mass  of  trees.  But  I  do  not  think  of  these  as  asso- 
ciated ideas,  for  they  all  occur  through  peripheral  stim- 
ulation of  the  retinal  processes.  Suppose,  however,  that 
the  sight  of  the  stone  towers  is  followed  by  the  following 
series  of  images  :  Rugby  Chapel  (an  image  of  words  on  a 
page) — "The  chapel  walls  in  whose  bound,  Thou,  my 
father!  art  laid"  (an  image  of  the  words  as  spoken)  — 
Matthew  Arnold  (an  image  of  him  as  he  reads  the  poem). 
Here  we  have,  between  each  of  these  images  and  that  which 
precedes  it,  a  case  of  association,  since  no  one  of  them  is 
peripherally  excited  by  an  object  which  is  present. 

This  example  shows  us  also  another  way,  besides  the 
physiological  one,  in  which  we  account  for  cases  of  associa- 
tion. We  refer  them  to  the  connection,  in  actual  past 
experience,  of  certain  contents  of  consciousness  with  which 
we  assume  that  the  present  contents  are  identical.  The 
sight  of  Rugby  Chapel,  for  example,  is  associated  with  the 
image  of  Matthew  Arnold  because  I  once  heard  him  read 
the  poem,  "  Rugby  Chapel,"  that  is,  I  once  had  simultane- 
ously the  visual  percept  of  his  figure  and  a  visual  image  of 
the  building.      Similarly,  the  sight  of  a  dog  associates  the 

M 


1 62  Classes  of  Association 

image  of  his  owner  because  I  have  seen  the  two  together ; 
and  the  sound  of  the  word  '  stop '  associates  the  image  of 
its  frequent  companion-word  '  thief.'  In  all  these  cases, 
I  know,  of  course,  upon  reflection,  that  my  immediate  facts 
of  consciousness,  the  present  percept  of  chapel  or  of  dog  or 
of  the  word  '  stop,'  and  the  present  image  of  Arnold  or  of 
master  or  of  the  word  '  thief,'  are  not  actually  identical  with 
those  past  experiences,  from  which,  on  the  contrary,  they 
are  separated  by  great  stretches  of  time ;  but  unquestion- 
ably I  assume  this  identity  of  present  with  past  facts  of 
consciousness,  and  base  upon  it  my  explanation  of  the 
association. 

The  most  important  and  obvious  classes  of  association 
may  best  be  described  by  the  terms  'total '  and  'partial.'  ^ 
*  Total  association  '  is  that  between  complex  facts  of  con- 
sciousness which  are  distinct  and  complete  in  themselves, 
ideas  of  things  or  of  events.  It  is  an  e.Kternal  and  prosaic 
sort  of  association,  evidently  accounted  for  by  the  reference 
to  past  related  objects  of  experience.  Most  of  our  illustra- 
tions have  been  of  this  type  ;  the  association,  one  after 
another,  of  the  notes  of  a  melody,  the  words  of  a  poem  or 
the  implements  of  a  trade  are  other  examples  of  this  com- 
mon form  of  association  which  may  be  readily  symbohzed 
by  the  following  diagram  :  — 

In  this    diagram,  the  small 

^t^ag^ofTor  --'^   imate'oSteT)     letter  { )')  stands  for 'centrally 

-.  -.^  excited'  and  the  capitals  stand 

for     '  either     peripherally     or 

V  centrally  excited  '  ;   the  arrow 

X >-  y  ,     .       ■'        ,      ^  1,1- 

designates  the  fact  and  the  di- 

(Pres^ent^percept  (P^^^'^^f      rectiou  of  the  associatiou,  and 

the  line  connecting  A'"  and 
F"  indicates  that  the  two  experiences  occurred  either  sim- 
ultaneously or  successiv^ely  ;  the  dividing  line  and  the  index 
both  suggest  that  A'"  and  F"  are  past  experiences. 

1  These  terms  were  suggested  by  James.     The  expression  '  total '  must  not, 
of  course,  be  interpreted  as  if  it  required  that  the  entire  fact  of  consciousness 


Classes  of  As  social  ion  163 

Partial  association  is  the  association  of  cLmcnts  of  con- 
sciousness or  of  groups  of  elements.  Its  most  extreme 
case,  which  James  aptly  calls  'focalized  association,"  is  the 
observed  connection  between  one  single  element  and 
another  elemental  or  complex  fact  of  consciousness.  It 
is  more  varied  in  form  and  less  obviously  explained  by 
reference  to  past  related  facts  of  consciousness,  and  must 
therefore  be  considered  in  more  detail. 

First  of  all,  let  us  assure  ourselves  that  the  partial  asso- 
ciation is  indeed  accounted  for  by  the  assumed  identity 
of  its  terms  with  past  experiences,  which  were  either  simul- 
taneous or  successive.  We  may  select,  as  an  extreme  in- 
stance, the  association  implied  in  these  verses  of  Shelley:  — 

"And  the  hyacinth,  purple  and  white  and  blue, 
Which  flung  from  its  bells  a  sweet  peal  anew 
Of  music,  so  delicate,  soft  and  intense, 
It  was  felt  lil<e  an  odor  within  the  sense." 

Now,  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  Shelley 
had  so  often  or  so  vividly  experienced  together  the  fra- 
grance of  hyacinths  and  the  sound  of  bells  that  the  one 
should  suggest  the  other.  At  first  sight,  therefore,  this 
seems  to  be  a  case  of  association,  which  cannot  be  ac- 
counted for  by  an  assumed  identity  of  the  connected  terms 
with  past  psychic  phenomena  occurring  together.  But 
on  closer  scrutiny  we  discover  that  the  actual  connection, 
for  Shelley,  between  sound  and  fragrance,  was  the  bell- 
shape  of  the  flower.  None  of  the  other  elements  of  the 
hyacinths,  their  color,  their  height,  their  texture,  have  any 
connection  with  the  sweet  peal  of  music.  But  this  con- 
necting link,  the  form  of  the  flowers,  is  not  associated 
with  the  image  of  sounding  bells  as  a  whole,  for  it  is 
itself  one  element  of  this  image ;  in  fact  the  only  associa- 
tion involved  is  that  between  (i)  the  element  'bell-shape, ' 

of  a  given  moment  should  be  associated  with  a  following  one.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  covers  cases  in  which  the  first  term  of  the  association  is  very  limited 
in  extent,  in  which,  for  example,  the  first  term  is  a  single  word. 


164  Classes  of  Association 

common  to  both  the  percept  of  the  fragrant  hyacinth  and 
the  image  of  the  peaHng  bell,  and  (2)  the  remaining  fea- 
tures of  the  bell  as  imaged,  the  auditory  image  of  pitch, 
intensity  and  volume  of  tone,  and  the  visual  image  of  the 
color  and  form  of  the  bell.  This  will  be  made  clearer 
through  the  following  diagram :  — 

(Past  image  of  bell) 
11" 


j^«  y« 


Present  percept  Present  image 

of  hyacinth  of  bell 


I  II 


Wi^a  ^b^-c)     X  — >-  y  {in  +  ?i  +  o) 

(Other  qualities       (Bell-shape)       (Other  qualities 
of  hyacinth)  of  bell) 

Here  the  Roman  numerals,  I.  and  II.,  represent  the  total, 
concrete  facts  of  consciousness,  the  hyacinth-percept  and 
the  bell-image ;  X  is  the  element  common  to  both  (the 
shape);  y  represents  the  group  of  imagined  elements, 
pitch,  intensity  and  the  like  (;;/,  u  and  0),  associated  by  X 
and  forming  with  it  the  image  of  the  pealing  bell ;  whereas 
W  groups  together  those  elements,  the  color,  height  and 
so  on  {a,  b  and  r)  of  the  hyacinth  percept,  which  have  no 
part  in  the  association.  Comparing  this,  therefore,  with 
the  concrete  associations,  we  find  that  it  has  the  following 
distinguishing  characteristics:  first  and  foremost,  (i)  the 
starting-point  of  the  association  is  a  very  narrow  one, 
either  a  single  element  or  —  as  we  shall  see  —  a  group  of 
elements,  but  never  a  concrete  total.  This  first  term  (X) 
of  the  association  is  furthermore  (2)  a  part  both  of  the 
first  and  of  the  second  of  the  successive,  concrete  ideas 
(the  hyacinth  percept,  I.,  and  the  image  of  the  bell,  II.); 
and  (3)  the  association,  therefore,  is  entirely  within  the 
second  of  these  ideas,  the  image  of  the  bell.     It  follows 


Classes  of  Association  165 

(4)  that  only  this  second  one  (II)  of  the  concrete,  conscious 
totals  need  be  regarded  as  identical  with  any  former 
experience  ;  in  the  present  case,  for  example,  Shelley  need 
never  before  have  seen  a  hyacinth,  but  he  must  already 
have  seen  and  heard  a  pealing  bell,  in  order  to  have  the 
association.  Finally,  (5)  it  is  evident  that,  in  cases  of  suc- 
cessive association,  the  first  of  the  associated  elements  or 
groups  of  elements  {^X)  necessarily  persists  in  conscious- 
ness, whereas  the  elements  combined  with  it  in  the  earlier 
complex  (I.)  fade  gradually  away;  and  that  the  persisting 
element  is  then  surrounded  by  the  added  elements  {iii,n,  o) 
of  the  second  concrete  (II.).  This  persistence  of  the  earlier 
fact  of  consciousness,  though  occurring  in  concrete  associa- 
tion, is  especially  characteristic  of  the  '  partial '  type. 

The  connecting  term  of  a  partial  association  (the  X) 
may  include  more  than  a  single  element.  We  have  then 
an  instance  of  what  may  be  named  '  multiple  associa- 
tion.'     When  Shakespeare,  for  example,  sings  of  love:  — 

"It  is  the  star  of  every  wandering  bark," 

the  star  reminds  him  of  love,  not  merely  by  the  steadfast- 
ness of  the  '  ever  fixed  mark '  but  by  the  unapproach- 
ableness  of  that  "whose  worth's  unknown  although  his 
height  be  taken."  Or,  to  take  a  more  prosaic  illustration, 
if  a  football  game  on  college  grounds  calls  up  an  image 
of  a  Roman  arena,  the  association  is  not  between  football 
game  and  Romaa  contest  as  total  experiences,  for  I  surely 
have  not  been  conscious  of  them  at  one  time  or  in  imme- 
diate succession  on  each  other.  But  neither  does  this 
association  start  from  any  single  feature  of  the  perceived 
game.  Rather,  a  highly  complex  combination  of  elements 
(falling  short,  however,  of  a  concrete  total)  —  the  amphi- 
theatrical  form  of  the  grounds,  the  multitude  of  spec- 
tators, the  straining  forms  of  the  young  athletes  — is 
common  both  to  the  perceived  and  to  the  imagined  contest ; 
and  these  images,  common  to  both  psychic  facts,  are  asso- 
ciated with  the  other  images,  cerebrally  excited,  of  Roman 


1 66  Classes  of  Association 

figures  and  costumes,  which  complete  the  consciousness 
of  the  gladiatorial  contest.  This  is  represented  by  the  fol- 
lowing diagram,  which  differs  from  the  last,  in  that  the  X 
is  a  complex  of  the  factors  (r,  d  and  c)  already  enumer- 
ated, which  are  common  to  percept  and  to  image. 

II" 


X"  V 


I  II 


W{a  -f  d)  X {c  +  d+  i')  — ^  J  (//  +  o) 

It  has  thus  been  shown  that  the  partial,  like  the  total, 
association  is  accounted  for  by  the  assumed  identity  of 
associated  facts  of  consciousness  with  earlier  facts ;  but 
that  these  recurring  facts,  instead  of  being  concrete  wholes, 
are  either  elements  or  groups  of  elements,  which  have 
been  combined  in  former  percepts  or  images  —  of  pealing 
bells  and  of  Roman  combat,  for  example.  An  association 
should  always,  therefore,  be  analytically  studied.  The  im- 
portant .point  is  the  determination  of  its  first  term,  and  the 
common  error  is  the  supposition  that  a  complex  content 
of  consciousness  is  invariably  to  be  taken  as  a  whole  in 
tracing  the  associative  connection.  On  the  other  hand,  as 
we  have  seen,  all  the  subtler  associations  of  our  conscious 
experience  are  instances  of  association  between  more  or 
less  elemental  parts  of  total  conscious  facts.  Undoubtedly 
the  greater  number  of  associations  in  anybody's  experience 
are  of  the  total  sort  — associations  between  objects  and  their 
uses,  between  people  and  their  names,  and  between  the  terms 
of  verbal  and  motor  series.  But  the  associations  which  dis- 
tinguish the  imaginative  from  the  prosaic  type  of  mind, 
which  are  the  essence  of  all  metaphor  and  the  very  heart  of 
humor,  belong,  all  of  them,  to  the  '  partial '  type  of  associa- 
tion. No  opposition  is  too  fixed,  no  separation  of  time  or 
place  too  wide,  to  be  bridged  by  this  sort  of  association. 


Secondary  Laws  of  Associatio7i  167 

We  have,  therefore,  the  following  types  of  association  :  — 

Association 

(Successive  or  Simultaneous) 

I.    Total  or  Concrete  Association,  of  complete   ideas  (with  or  with- 
out persistence  of  the  first  term). 
II.    Partial  Association,  of  persisting  elements  of  consciousness  :  — 

a.  Multiple  Association  (starting  from  a  large  group  of  elements). 

b.  Focalized  Association  (starting  from  a  single  element  or  from 

a  small  group  of  elements). 

We  have  so  far  left  untouched  the  practical  questions : 
is  it  possible,  in  any  sense,  to  determine  the  actual  associa- 
tions of  one's  conscious  life  ;  is  it  possible  to  predict  which 
one  of  the  percepts  or  images  of  a  given  moment  will  form 
the  starting-point  of  a  train  of  associated  images ;  and  — 
given  the  starting-point — is  it  possible  to  determine  what 
one  of  the  numberless  images,  which  might  conceivably 
follow,  will  actually  be  associated }  These  questions,  it 
will  be  observed,  concern  what  may  be  named  the  associa- 
tive suggestiveness  and  suggestibility  of  facts  of  conscious- 
ness. The  most  general  answer  to  be  made  to  them  is 
this :  psychic  facts  are  both  suggestive  and  likely  to  be 
suggested  in  proportion  as  they  are  interesting  or  attended- 
to ;  and  they  are  attended-to,  in  the  main,  because  they 
are  either  (i)  frequent  or  (2)  recent  in  occurrence,  or 
because  they  are  (3)  vivid,  that  is,  instinctively  attended-to 
or  else  rich  in  emotional  elements.^ 

These  distinctions,  forming  what  are  sometimes  called 
the  '  secondary  laws '  of  association,  may  be  readily  illus- 
trated from  everyday  experience.  If  the  suggestive 
part  of  my  percept  of  my  desk  is  a  battered  old  Liddell 
and  Scott  lexicon,  this  is  because  I  consult  the  book  so 
frequently  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  my  train  of  images  fol- 
lows on  the  percept  of  a  commonplace  yellow  pamphlet, 
this  is  perhaps  because  the  pamphlet  arrived  by  the  last 

1  For  experiments,  cf,  Titchener,  §  52.     Cf.  M.  W.  Calkins,  "Association." 


1 68  Secondary  Laws  of  Association 

mail ;  if,  finally,  a  polished  bit  of  brass  or  a  little  Venetian 
water  color  is  the  suggestive  part  of  the  desk,  it  is  associa- 
tive because  it  is  a  vivid,  an  instinctively  noticed,  percept. 
The  forms  of  associative  suggestibility  may  be  illustrated 
in  a  parallel  way.  The  lexicon  may  suggest  the  book- 
table  on  which  it  commonly  lies ;  or  it  may  remind  me  of 
its  precipitous  fall,  only  yesterday,  from  desk  to  floor ;  or 
again  it  may  suggest  a  verse  of  Homer  or  of  Sophokles, 
an  £esthetically  vivid  experience.  It  is  fair  to  conclude 
that  the  explanation  of  every  definite  instance  of  associa- 
tion is  through  the  application  of  one  of  these  three  prin- 
ciples, of  frequency,  recency,  and  —  widest  and  vaguest  of 
the  classes  —  vividness.  Experiment  has  shown  the  un- 
expected importance  of  frequency  among  these,  especially 
as  a  corrective  influence.  Granted  a  sufficient  number  of 
repetitions,  it  seems  possible  to  supplement,  if  not  actually 
to  supplant,  associations  which  have  been  formed  through 
impressive  or  through  recent  experiences.  This,  of  course, 
is  a  fact  of  utmost  pedagogical  value,  a  justification  of  the 
'line  upon  line  and  precept  upon  precept '  method  of  replac- 
ing harmful  or  troublesome  associations  by  helpful  ones. 

We  have  now  to  consider  the  physiological  condition  of 
association.  In  a  general  way,  it  may  be  described  as  the 
excitation  of  a  given  brain-area  through  nervous  impulses 
conveyed,  by  intra-cortical  fibres,  from  another  brain-area. 
The  larger  these  brain-areas,  the  more  nearly  '  total '  is  the 
association ;  and  the  more  continuous  the  cerebral  excita- 
tion, the  more  persistent  is  the  consciousness.  It  is  also 
natural  that  connecting  fibres  which  have  been  frequently 
or  recently  or  strongly  excited  should  offer  little  resistance 
to  the  excitation ;  and  in  this  probability  we  have  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  physiological  basis  for  the  secondary  laws  of 
associative  frequency,  recency  and  vividness. 


CHAPTER   XIV 
PERCEPTION 


Thk  conscious  experience  of  any  given  moment  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  complex  of  elemental  feelings  and  may  be 
regarded  from  one  of  two  standpoints,  either  as  experience 
of  a  self,  or  as  one  idea  in  a  series  of  associated  ideas.  In 
this  chapter,  we  shall  first  consider  the  percept,  the  psychic 
event  or  idea  regarded  without  reference  to  any  self  ;  we 
shall  next  treat  perceiving  as  a  form  of  consciousness,  real- 
ized as  shared  with  other  selves ;  and,  finally,  we  shall  dis- 
cuss both  percept  and  perceiving,  mere  idea  and  experience 
of  a  self,  as  complex  forms  of  consciousness  to  be  analyzed, 
classified  and  physiologically  accounted  for. 

From  the  first  of  these  points  of  vie\^i^^erception  means 
merely  the  occurrence  of  percept^  A  percept  is  a  com- 
plex idea  or  fact  of  consciousness,  analyzable  into  elements, 
chiefly  sensational ;  and  of  these  elements  some,  as  we 
shall  see,  are  excited  from  without.  Besides  sensational 
elements,  moreover,  perception  in  all  probability  includes 
certain  uneniphasized  relational  elementSj/  We  shall  try  to 
justify  this  analysis  in  the  second  division  of  this  chapter. 

Perception,  however,  may  be  looked  at  in  another  way, 
not  as  mere  succession  of  percepts,  but  as  perceiving,  a 
consciousness  of  experience  shared  with  other  selves.  From 
this  point  of  view,  it  is  a  personal  attitude,  not  a  mere  idea, 
connected  with  other  ideas,  /l^erceiving,  thus  regarded,  is, 
in  the  first  place,  recognized  as  in  some  sense  a  passive 
experience,  and,  in  this  aspect  of  it,  is  sharply  distinguished 
from  will  and  faith,  our  active  personal  attitudes.  This 
means  that  we  cannot  help  perceiving  what  we  actually  see 

169 


1 70  Perception 

and  heary  As  Bishop  Berkeley  says,  "  When  in  broad  day- 
light I  open  my  eyes,  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  choose 
whether  I  shall  see  or  no,  .  .  .  and  so  likewise  as  to  hear- 
ing and  the  other  senses."  ^  That  is  to  say,  in  bare  per- 
ception, we  do  not  impose  conditions,  but  we  accept  and 
acknowledge  the  independence  and  significance  of  what  is 
outside  us. 

This  acknowledgment  of  something  outside  ourselves, 
usually  described  as  the  consciousness  of  external  things, 
has  long  been  admitted  as  the  essential  distinction  of  per- 
ception from  imagination.  It  implies,  in  the  first  place, 
that  our  perceiving  consciousness  is,  or  may  be,  shared  by 
other  people  than  ourselves.  At  this  moment,  for  instance, 
I  perceive  lowering  heavens,  pouring  rain,  bare  trees  and 
drenched  sparrows,  but  I  imagine  wide  horizons,  brilliant 
sky,  blossoming  apple  trees  and  nesting  orioles.  The  main 
difference  is  this  :  in  the  one  case,  I  assume  that  my  ex- 
perience is  shared  by  other  people,  and  that  everybody  who 
looks  out  sees  the  same  dreary  landscape ;  but  my  imagi- 
nation of  the  sunny  orchard  I  regard  as  my  private  and 
unshared  experience. 

/It  thus  appears  that  even  perception,  the  consciousness, 
as  we  call  it,  of  outer  things,  is  a  consciousness  of  other 
selves  as  sharing  our  experience,  a  relatively  altruistic,  not 
an  exclusively  egoistic,  mode  of  consciousness.  This  is  the 
reason  why  we  usually  speak  of  sight  and  hearing  and  smell 
as  higher  senses  —  and  in  the  order  named — than  taste 
and  the  dermal  sense-experiences.  Vision  is  the  experience 
most  readily  shared  by  any  number  of  selves/for  example, 
everybody  within  a  very  wide  area  may  see  the  mountain 
on  the  horizon  or  the  Milky  Way  in  the  evening  sky.  Next 
to  vision,  sounds  are  the  most  frequently  shared  experi- 
ences ;  millions  of  people  hear  the  same  thunder,  and  thou- 
sands may  share  the  same  concert.  Even  odors,  though 
shared  by  fewer  people,  may  be  common  to  very  many, 

^  "  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge,"  §  29.  y- 


Perception  1 7 1 

whereas  tastes  and  pressures  and  pains,  which  require  ac- 
tual bodily  contact,  and  warmth  and  cold,  whose  physio- 
logical stimulation  depends  on  conditions  of  the  individual 
body,  are  far  less  invariably  shared  experiences.  But  the 
shared  experiences  are  those  that  are  described,  discussed, 
repeated,  measured,  —  in  other  words,  those  which  are  crea- 
tively reembodied  in  works  of  art  and  in  scientific  investi- 
gations. Vision,  therefore,  is  a  higher  sense  than  the 
others,  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  more  often  shared,  and  hence 
more  often  discussed  and  described,  measured  and  verified. 
This  is  the  reason  why  it  is  a  more  significant  social  mate- 
rial of  intercourse,  art  and  science.  Pressure  and  warmth, 
on  the  other  hand,  are  less  valued  because  they  are  less 
often  actually  shared  and,  therefore,  less  easily  verified  and 
less  frequently  described. 

The  fact  that  perception  is  common  experience  explains, 
also,  why  we  always  test  the  externality  of  things  by  inquir- 
ing whether  other  people  have  shared  our  consciousness 
of  them.  Am  I  really  seeing  this  light  or  hearing  this 
sound,  I  ask  myself,  or  am  I  simply  imagining  it  .■*  And 
the  test  which  I  always  apply  is  comparison  with  other 
people's  experience.  I  must  actually  have  perceived  the 
table  tipping,  I  say,  because  all  these  others  felt  it ;  I  saw 
the  ghost  and  did  not  conjure  him  up  by  my  terrified  im- 
agination, for  these  others  also  saw  him  ;  I  really  feel  the 
heat,  for  other  people's  cheeks  are  flushed.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  admit  that  I  imagined  the  bell  and  did  not  hear  it, 
if  everybody  else  remains  unmoved ;  and  I  grant  that  the 
burglar  is  an  imaginary  one  if  none  of  these  others  heard 
his  footfall.  Professor  Royce  suggestively  illustrates  this 
from  the  development  of  our  ideas  about  the  rainbow. 
Primarily,  the  rainbow  seems  to  me  and  to  everybody  as 
external  or  objective  a  phenomenon  as  the  sky  itself  or  the 
sun.  When,  however,  I  discover  that  my  rainbow  springs 
up  from  one  point  of  the  horizon  and  yours  from  a  differ- 
ent point,  and  when  I  finally  complete  this  observation  and 
conclude  that  everybody  sees  a  rainbow  which  is  spatially 


172  Perceptio7i 

a  little  different  from  every  other,  then  my  rainbow  loses 
its  externality,  and  is  classified  no  longer  as  actual  percep- 
tion, but  as  illusion.  Such  a  test  of  perception  would 
never  be  appUed,  if  perceiving  did  not  mean  to  us  the 
community  of  experience  with  other  people  —  not  with  any 
special  person,  —  but  with  any  or  all  people. 

There  can,  indeed,  be  no  doubt  that  we  all  reflectively 
mean  by  perception,  experience  shared,  actually  or  possi- 
bly, with  any  other  selves.  That  is  to  say,  looking  back 
on  our  perception,  and  seeking  to  distinguish  it  from  other 
forms  of  consciousness,  we  actually  do  define  it  in  these 
terms.  It  is  harder  to  decide  whether,  in  the  very  moment 
of  perceiving,  we  are  immediately  conscious  of  these  other 
selves.  The  writer  is  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  this  is  at 
least  often  true.  We  are  walking,  let  us  say,  along  a  vil- 
lage street,  looking  idly  about  from  stone-heap  to  passing 
carriage,  gaunt  telegraph  pole  and  gabled  house.  We  are 
not,  to  be  sure,  conscious  of  any  particular  person,  yet  we 
vaguely  realize  that  this  is  a  shared,  a  common,  a  public 
experience,  not  a  private  one,  that  the  other  people,  actu- 
ally or  conceivably  present,  are  seeing  the  same  sights, 
house  and  carriage  and  stone-heap. 

It  should  be  carefully  emphasized  that  this  acknowl- 
edgment of  other  people,  as  sharing  our  experience,  is  not 
of  necessity  a  conviction  of  their  actual  presence.  Alone 
in  my  room,  for  instance,  I  none  the  less  perceive,  and 
do  not  merely  imagine,  crackling  fire  and  book-shelves 
and  lighted  lamp,  since  I  acknowledge,  immediately  or 
reflectively,  that  if  others  were  present,  they  would  share 
in  what  I  see  and  hear.  In  other  words,  though  the  per- 
ceiver  be  actually  alone,  his  experience  is  immediately 
realized  or  reflectively  described  as  a  social  one. 

But  perception,  the  consciousness  of  externality,  in  the 
developed  form  in  which  we  know  it,  includes  not  merely 
the  altruistic  consciousness  of  selves  who  share  our  expe- 
rience, but  a  notion  of  something  independent  of  conscious- 
ness and  distinct  from  it.     What  is  common  to  all  selves 


Analysis  of  Perception  17 


-> 


must  be,  it  is  argued,  independent  of  any  self.  This  con- 
viction of  something  independent  of  ourselves  need  not, 
however,  be  studied  in  detail,  for  it  unquestionably  is  not 
an  immediate  experience,  but  a  later  reflection,  attained 
in  all  probability  by  the  effort  to  account  for  the  fact  of 
common  experience.  From  the  standpoint,  therefore,  of 
psychology  as  a  study  of  selves  in  their  relation,  percep- 
tion is  the  altruistic,  passive  experience  shared  by  any 
number  of  unparticularized  other  selves. 

II 

Perception,  whether  looked  at  as  mere  idea  or  as  the 
shared  experience  of  a  self,  is  in  any  case  a  complex  fact 
of  consciousness.  In  other  words,  perception,  like  imagi- 
nation, thought,  emotion  and  volition,  is  no  single  element, 
or  even  sensation,  but  a  complex  of  elements  ;  it  is  no 
mere  abstract  awareness  of  blue  or  sweet,  but  a  concrete 
consciousnes^for  example,  of  '  blue  gentian '  or  of  '  sweet 
apple.'  The  perception,  therefore,  must  be  further  de- 
scribed by  analysis  into  its  parts.  Now,  all  complex  expe- 
riences are  in  one  way  '  sensational,'  that  is,  all  contain 
sensational  elements.  No  emotion  is  so  lofty  and  no 
thought  so  sublime  that  it  does  not  include  within  itself  a 
sensational  factor,  a  verbal  image,  for  instance,  or  a  core 
of  organic  sensations.  Certain  complex  experiences  are, 
however,  so  largely  sensational,  so  nearly  lacking  in  other 
elements,  that  they  may  v/ell  be  named  sensational  com- 
plexes. These  are  perceptions  and  imaginations,  which 
are,  as  everybody  realizes,  mainly  composed  of  sensational 
elements,  of  colors,  tones,  pressures  and  the  like,  among 
which  there  doubtless  lurk  certain  unemphasized  relational 
elements,  both  the  attention-element,  clearness,  and  a  feel- 
ing of  '  holding  together,'  or  combination.  My  perception 
of  a  lamp,  for  example,  besides  sensational  elements  of 
color,  shape,  smoothness  and  warmth,  probably  contains  a 
vague  feeling  of  the  combination  of  these  elements  and  of 


1 74  Perception 

their  distinctness  from  all  the  rest  which  I  see.  It  is, 
however,  very  hard  to  observe  these  elusive  relational  ele- 
ments, and  they  defy  experimental  verification. 

Even  the  bare  mention  of  these  relational  feelings  sug- 
gests two  important  general  problems.  The  first  of  these 
is  the  question,  How  does  the  relational  feeling  of  clear- 
ness come  to  be  attached  to  particular  portions  of  one's 
sense-experience  .''  At  any  moment  of  the  normal  waking 
life,  the  retina,  the  basilar  membrane  of  the  ear  and,  in 
truth,  a  great  number  of  the  bodily  end-organs  are  simul- 
taneously stimulated.  The  result  is  a  rich  sensational 
complex,  a  mass  of  colors  and  sounds,  of  pressures,  tastes 
and  odors.  Primitively,  as  we  have  every  reason  to  think, 
this  sensational  mass  is  undiscriminated,  a  mere  'bloom- 
ing buzz,'  as  James  has  called  it.  So  Kaspar  Hauser,  who 
was  imprisoned  for  many  years  in  a  dai^l^SnecTToom,  could 
not  distinguish,  when  first  he  looked  from  his  window,  on 
a  sunshiny  day,  the  village  spires,  the  trees,  the  meadows 
and  the  hills  of  the  landscape  before  him,  but  saw  only  a 
mass  of  color,  so  confused  and  indistinct  that  he  compared 
it,  long  afterward,  to  the  colors  as  they  are  mixed  on  a 
painter's  palette.  At  our  present  stage  of  development, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  feeling  of  clearness  is  combined  with 
distinct  groups  of  these  elements,  and  we  have  different 
percepts  within  the  total  complex  :  bird-notes  and  hand- 
organ  clangs  in  the  mass  of  sounds ;  and  trees,  houses 
and  human  figures  within  the  mass  of  color  and  form. 
Our  questions  are :  how  does  this  differentiation  of  com- 
plex perceptions  within  the  total  complex  of  consciousness 
come  about .''  Why,  for  example,  does  the  feeling  of  dis- 
tinctness attach  to  the  limited  complex  of  colors  and  forms 
which  make  up  the  visual  image  of  a  rug  on  the  floor, 
instead  of  being  combined  with  a  greater  complex  of  the 
visual  elements  of  my  present  experience. 

In  answer  to  these  questions,  we  may  point  out,  in  the 
first  place,  that  elements  like  those  contained  within  a 
limited  perception  have  often   before    occurred    together. 


Discrimiiiated  Percepts  175 

with  very  varying  accompaniments,  whereas  a  sense  com- 
plex, in  its  totality,  is  not  like  any  preceding  one.  I  have 
never,  for  example,  experienced  at  Trafalgar  Square  pre- 
cisely this  moment's  combination  of  people,  carriages, 
street  cries,  horses'  hoof-beats  and  city  odors  ;  but  my 
percepts  of  the  National  Gallery,  the  Nelson  Monument, 
the  crowded  Tottenham  Court  Road  omnibus  and  the  noisy 
newsboy  crying  the  Times  and  Chronicle  are,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  exactly  like  many  past  percepts. 

Professor  Munsterberg  has  pointed  out  another  way  — 
the  only  way,  as  he  and  many  psychologists  hold  —  in 
which  we  come  to  distinguish  perceptions  within  a  total 
consciousness.  Limited  portions  of  our  environment  nor- 
mally call  out  definite  reactions  ;  and  an  important  reason 
for  distinguishing  different  perceptions,  as  of  man  and 
horse  and  plant  and  bicycle,  is  that  I  shake  hands  with  the 
man,  seize  the  horse's  reins,  dodge  the  bicycle  and  pick 
the  flower  ;  in  other  words,  I  react  in  a  definite  way  to  each. 

From  both  these  points  of  view,  it  is  comprehensible  that 
percepts  and  images  may  vary  greatly  in  extent.  At  this 
moment,  for  instance,  I  may  either  perceive  my  desk  and 
all  the  things  on  it  as  a  single  object,  or  I  may  perceive 
watch,  pen,  paper,  blotter,  ink-bottle,  package  of  letters 
and  books.  For  though  I  have  never  before  seen  my  desk 
in  this  particular  degree  and  manner  of  disorder,  yet  there 
are  certain  constant  features  —  mahogany  color,  'rising- 
sun  '  carving,  serpentine  pigeon-holes,  rows  of  books' — 
similar  to  those  of  previous  desk  perceptions,  and  there  is, 
furthermore,  a  relatively  fixed  reaction  to  the  perception 
desk-as-a-whole,  namely,  the  movement  involved  in  begin- 
ning to  write.  My  perception,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be 
of  one  of  these  objects  only  —  say  of  my  watch  or  of  a  letter 
scale — because  I  have  often  perceived  this  object,  in  vari- 
ous surroundings,  and  because  it  has  always  called  out  the 
same  characteristic  movement  of  my  hand. 

The  second  of  the  general  considerations,  suggested  by 
the  mention  of  the  relational  elements  in  perception/is  the 


1 76  Perception 

following :  though  a  perception  probably  includes  a  cer- 
tain feeling  of  combination,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  we 
are  only  very  vaguely  conscious  of  the  complexity  of  our 
perceptions.  A  reflectively  analyzed  perception  is  really, 
as  we  shall  later  see,  a  judgment ;  and  a  perception,  in  the 
strict  sense  of  the  term,  does  not  appear  to  us  as  a  combina- 
tion of  sharply  distinguished  elements  or  parts/  I  have, 
for  example,  an  unanalyzed,  unitary  experience  of  the  tree 
at  which  I  chance  to  look  or  of  the  violin  note  which  I  hear. 
The  perception  of  the  tree  is  not,  as  immediately  experi- 
enced, a  complex  idea,  realized  as  containing  the  distinct 
ingredients,  tallness,  conical  shape,  dull  green,  spikiness,  but 
it  is  just  'this  tree,'  and  most  of  its  elements  are  distinguished 
by  reflection  only ;  and  the  note  is  not  primarily  a  recognized 
compound  of  high  pitch,  moderate  loudness  and  scraping 
noise,  but  is  a  simple  experience  —  analyzable,  to  be  sure, 
but  not  necessarily  or  originally  fully  analyzed.  Each  per- 
ception of  the  tree  and  of  the  note  is  a  unit  of  conscious- 
ness, and  the  discrimination  of  its  elements  is  for  practical, 
theoretical  or  aesthetic  purposes.  I  notice  the  tree,  for 
instance,  in  order  to  avoid  it  if  I  am  a  bicycler,  or  in  order 
to  classify  it  if  I  am  a  botanist,  or  in  order  to  account  for 
the  charm  of  its  outline  if  my  interest  is  aesthetic.  To  quote 
from  James,^  who  has  laid  special  stress  on  the  comparative 
simplicity  of  the  percept :  "  To  a  child,  the  taste  of  lemon- 
ade comes  at  first  as  a  simple  quality.  He  later  learns 
both  that  many  stimuli  and  many  nerves  are  involved  in 
the  exhibition  of  this  taste  to  his  mind,  and  he  also  learns 
to  perceive  separately  the  sourness,  the  coolness,  the  sweet, 
the  lemon  aroma,  etc.,  and  the  several  degrees  of  strength 
of  each  and  all  of  these  things, — the  experience  falling 
into  a  large  number  of  aspects,  each  of  which  is  abstracted, 
classed,  named,  etc.,  and  all  of  which  appear  to  be  the  ele- 
mentary sensations  into  which  the  original  '  lemonade 
flavor '  is   decomposed.     It  is  argued   from   this  that  the 

1  "Principles,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  2,  note. 


Unity  of  Perception  177 

latter  never  was  the  simple  thing  which  it  seemed.  I  have 
already  criticised  this  sort  of  reasoning.  The  mind  of  the 
child  enjoying  the  simple  lemonade  flavor  and  that  of  the 
same  chikl  grown  up  and  analyzing  it  are  two  entirely  dif- 
ferent conditions.  Subjectively  considered,  the  two  states 
of  mind  are  altogether  distinct  sorts  of  fact.  The  later 
mental  state  says  'this  is  the  same  JIavor  {or  fluid)  which 
that  earlier  state  perceived  as  simple,'  but  that  does  not 
make  the  two  states  themselves  identical.  It  is  nothing 
but  a  case  of  learning  more  and  more  about  the  same  topics 
of  discourse  or  things." 

This  is,  in  truth,  a  highly  important,  though  a  negative, 
characteristic  of  the  conscious  complex.  Because  it  has 
been  overlooked,  two  curious  metaphysical  theories  have 
crept  into  the  doctrine  of  perception  :  the  teaching  of  the 
associationists,  that  conscious  elements  add  themselves  to 
form  the  percept,  and  the  opposite  theory  of  the  spiritual- 
ists, that  the  mind  unites  the  elements  into  the  percept. 
Both  theories  are  psychologically  inadmissible  because 
they  make  philosophical  implications ;  the  former  is  fur- 
ther objectionable  because  it  involves  the  invalid  meta- 
physical doctrine  of  ideas  as  permanent  realities ;  but, 
more  than  all,  both  are  unnecessary,  for  they  incorrectly 
assume  that  the  original  experience  is  that  of  the  single 
elements,  and  that  there  is,  therefore,  need  to  explain  the 
later  union  of  these  elements  within  a  percept.  On  the 
contrary,  the  original  experience  is  of  undistinguished  and 
undiscriminated  complexity,  and  it  is  simply  explained  as 
due  to  the  complexity  of  the  physical  environment  and 
thus  of  the  physiological  excitation,  that  is  to  say,  as  due 
to  the  fact  that  retina  and  basilar  membrane  and  end- 
organs  of  skin  and  mucous  membranes  are  simultaneously 
stimulated  through  the  outer  world. 

Several  sorts  of  connection,  therefore,  have  to  do  with 
the  perception.  Two  of  these  are  forms  of  complexity  with 
which  psychology  has,  strictly  speaking,  no  concern  :  the 
combination,  or  occurrence  together,  of  the  physical  stimuli, 

N 


I  78  Physiological  Basis  of  Perception 

and  the  physiological  excitations  of  the  percept.  The 
other  forms  of  complexity  are  within  the  psychologist's 
domain.  These  are,  first,  the  fusion  or  association  of  ele- 
ments which  is  reflectively  observed,  not  immediately  felt, 
in  the  perception  ;  and  second,  a  very  vague  and  unem- 
phasized  feeling  of  combination,  which  is  perhaps  a  part 
of  our  perceptions. 

It  will  be  convenient,  at  this  point,  to  consider  the  physi- 
ological conditions  of  perception.  These  have  really  been 
described  in  our  study  of  the  elements  of  consciousness, 
but  one  important  fact  must  be  emphasized,  because  it 
serves,  as  we  shall  see,  to  differentiate  perception  from 
imagination.  The  perception  always  includes  sensations 
which  have  been  peripherally,  not  merely  centrally,  stimu- 
lated ;  that  is  to  say,  in  perception,  not  merely  sense-cen- 
tres of  the  brain  in  the  occipital  and  temporal  lobes  and 
the  Rolandic  area,  but  retina,  cochlea  and  dermal  end- 
organs  are  excited.  Often,  to  be  sure,  a  perception  in- 
cludes centrally  excited,  as  well  as  peripherally  excited 
elements ;  that  is  to  say,  the  excitation  of  some  brain-cen- 
tre, which  has  been  stimulated  from  the  outside,  spreads 
to  other  brain-centres,  which  are  thus  excited  from  within 
and  not  from  without.  But  though  many  parts  of  a  per- 
ception may,  in  this  way,  be  centrally  excited,  some  part 
of  it  is  always  conditioned  by  external  stimulus  acting  on 
end-organs.  Probably,  also,  there  occur  excitations  of  cer- 
tain of  the  so-called  'association-centres,'  the  physiological 
correlates  of  what  we  have  called  the  feelings  of  combina- 
tion and  of  distinctness.^ 

Perceptions  are  thus  described  as  limited  complex  expe- 
riences, which  are  mainly  sensational,  and  partly  due  to 
peripheral  excitation,  yet  inclusive  of  the  relational  feelings 
of  clearness  and  of  combination.     They  may  be  classified  in 

^  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  I.,  I. 


Classes  of  Perception  1 79 

two  main  groups,  distinguished  by  three  parallel  sets  of 
characteristics.     The  following  outline  makes  this  clear :  — 


Perception 

Percept  (mere  idea)  Perceiving  (shared 

experience) 

Fused  Percept  I.  Pure  Perception  Completely  shared 

(Peripherally  excited) 
Associated  II.  Mixed  Perception  Partly  shared 

(Peripherally  and  centrally  excited) 

As  this  outline  indicates,  pure  perception  may  be  defined 
from  three  points  of  view.  In  the  first  place,  all  the  sen- 
sations which  it  includes  are  peripherally  excited  by  exter- 
nal stimuli,  and  it  contains  absolutely  no  sensations  which 
are  not  directly  aroused  by  objects  immediately  present. 
For  example,  the  pure  perception  of  a  russet  apple,  out  of 
reach,  is  the  consciousness  of  something  brown  and  round, 
but  does  not  include  the  consciousness  of  smoothness  and 
of  taste,  because  the  untouched  apple  does  not  immedi- 
ately stimulate  the  end-organs  of  pressure  and  taste  in 
skin  and  in  mucous  membrane. 

The  pure  perception,  in  the  second  place,  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  fusion,  and  this  distinction,  as  we  have  seen,' 
is  most  often  made  from  the  standpoint  of  idea-psychology, 
in  contrasting  the  fused  with  the  associated  percept.  The 
percept  of  the  apple  is  a  fusion  of  the  feelings  of  brown- 
ness,  roundness  and  the  like. 

The  pure  perception,  in  the  third  place,  if  looked  upon, 
not  as  mere  idea,  but  as  personal  attitude,  is  an  experience 
which  we  regard  as  completely  shared  with  other  people. 
For  example,  every  normal  person  within  sight  of  a  russet 
apple  perceives  that  it  is  brown  and  round. 

The  mixed  perception  has  the  opposite  characteristics. 
With  reference,  first,  to  its  physiological  condition,  it  may 
be  described  as  including  both  peripherally  and  centrally 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XIII. 


i8o  Classes  of  Perception 

excited  elements.  This  means,  of  course,  that  in  mixed 
perception  we  perceive  far  more  than  what  is  actually 
present.  Our  mixed  perception  of  the  russet  apple  includes 
the  consciousness  of  its  smoothness,  even  though  we  do  not 
touch  the  apple ;  and  in  the  same  way  we  are  rightly  said 
to  perceive  the  varying  textures  of  the  leading  lady's 
gowns  at  the  play  ;  and  we  are  even  said  to  hear  the  street- 
car bell,  though  the  only  sensation  peripherally  aroused  is 
that  of  the  sound,  and  the  accompanying  consciousness  of 
'  street-car '  includes  only  centrally  excited  sensations. 

The  mixed  perceptual  experience,  regarded  as  percept, 
that  is  as  idea,  is,  in  the  second  place,  distinguished  from 
the  pure  percept  in  that  it  is  'associated'  and  not  merely 
fused.  The  centrally  excited  feeling  of  smoothness  is 
associated  with  the  peripherally  excited  feelings  of  color 
and  shape  in  the  percept  of  the  russet  apple,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  unseen  colors,  form  and  movement  of  the 
street-car  are  associated  with  the  consciousness  of  the  sound 
actually  heard. 

Mixed  perceiving,  finally,  the  consciousness  of  shared 
experience,  differs  from  pure  perceiving  in  that  it  includes, 
along  with  the  consciousness  shared  by  all  normal  per- 
sons, a  more  or  less  individual  experience.  Your  per- 
cept and  mine  of  the  street-car  bell  which  we  hear  from 
behind  us,  as  we  stand  on  the  same  windy  corner,  are 
assumed  to  be  alike  so  far  as  the  mere  sound  is  concerned, 
but  may  differ  very  widely  in  the  '  street-car '  part  of 
the  experience,  since  you  may  be  conscious  of  '  blue- 
Meetinghouse-Hill-car-bell,'  whereas  I  may  be  conscious  of 
'  green-Crosstown-car-bell.' 

It  is  evident  that  the  pure  perception,  unmixed  with 
centrally  excited,  associated  elements,  can  occur  only  in 
primitive  or  in  half-unconscious  states.  The  indistinct 
awareness  of  light  and  sound  to  which  one  sometimes 
wakes  from  a  sound  sleep,  the  baby's  consciousness  of 
any  wholly  novel  object  —  of  railroad  train  or  ocean  —  and 
the  savage's   first  view  of  a  steamboat  are  examples  of 


Mixed  Pc7''ception  i8i 

pure  percepts.  In  these  experiences,  the  sleepy  person 
is  conscious  of  mere  light  and  sound  without  any  conscious- 
ness of  their  source,  and  the  child  or  the  savage  sees  pre- 
cisely what  is  before  him,  for  example,  an  oblong,  moving 
object  from  which  puffs  of  smoke  arise,  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  the  inner  mechanism  or  the  purpose  of  boat 
or  of  train.  Such  pure  perceptions  are,  of  course,  replaced 
by  the  mixed  perceptions  which  make  up  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  our  adult  experience. 

Mixed  perceptions  may  differ  very  widely  in  the  relation 
of  their  centrally  excited  to  their  peripherally  excited  ele-. 
ments.  In  the  first  class,  the  centrally  excited  elements 
are  no  more  important  than  those  peripherally  excited, 
but  are  quite  as  constant,  and  indeed  form,  with  the 
peripherally  excited  elements,  the  perception  of  a  single 
.  object,  scene  or  event.  For  example,  the  centrally 
excited  sensations  of  the  coolness  and  smoothness  of  a 
statue  belong  less  essentially,  or  at  any  rate  no  more 
essentially,  than  the  sensations  of  color  and  form  to  our 
visual  percept  of  the  statue ;  the  centrally  excited  sensa- 
tions of  color,  form,  internal  pressure  and  jerk  are  com- 
bined with  a  clanging  sound  actually  heard,  to  make  up 
the  perception  of  a  street-car ;  and  the  visual  and  odor- 
sensations  roused  by  an  orange,  which  is  beyond  one's 
reach,  combine  closely  with  the  associated  impressions  of 
its  rough,  cool  surface  and  its  taste.  In  such  cases,  it  may 
be  observed,  the  association  is  of  the  close  kind,  called 
'assimilation,'  and  the  centrally,  as  well  as  the  periphe- 
rally, excited  experience  is  likely  to  be  common  to  most 
observers  ;  for  example,  we  are  practically  as  unanimous 
in  our  consciousness  of  the  roughness  of  the  orange  as  of 
its  color. 

In  the  second  class  of  mixed  perceptions,  the  centrally 
excited  part  is  far  more  variable,  and  often  more  significant, 
than  the  part  peripherally  excited.  For  example,  your 
percept  of  a  copy  of  the  Hermes  of  Praxiteles  may  include 
a  distinct  consciousness  of  Homer's  description  of  Hermes 


1 82  Symbolic  Perception 

binding  his  sandals  upon  his  feet;  whereas  I,  who  stand 
at  your  side  and  regard  the  figure  with  equal  interest,  may 
perceive  nothing  save  the  outline,  color  and  background  of 
the  statue.  Again,  you  and  I  may  hear  the  same  violin 
obligate,  without  seeing  the  player  ;  your  perception  of 
the  rich  harmonies  may  be  supplemented  by  a  conscious- 
ness of  Kneisel  holding  the  violin  and  drawing  the  bow, 
whereas  my  perception  may  include  the  centrally  excited 
consciousness,  not  of  Kneisel,  but  of  Loeffler.  These  con- 
stituents of  the  perception  are,  it  will  be  noticed,  more 
remotely  associated  and  far  more  individual,  less  common 
to  all  observers,  than  the  fused,  peripherally  associated, 
common  elements  with  which  they  are   combined. 

One  sub-class  of  these  remotely  associated  and  individual 
mixed  perceptions  is  of  such  significance  that  it  merits 
especial  notice.  This  is  the  class  of  symbolic  perceptions, 
in  which  the  peripherally  excited  elements  are  entirely 
unimportant  in  themselves,  and  significant  only  as  con- 
nected with  the  centrally  excited  parts  of  the  perception. 
A  diagram  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  symbolic  percep- 
tion. The  peripherally  excited,  the  actually  seen,  elements 
of  a  diagram  are  extremely  insignificant;  the  important 
part  of  it  is,  not  the  actual  color  or  form,  but  the  mean- 
ing, in  other  words,  the  image  associated  with  it.  It  is 
of  no  consequence,  for  example,  in  a  curve  representing 
the  average  heights  of  school  children  of  different  ages, 
whether  the  curve  be  black  or  red  or  blue,  whether  vertical 
or  horizontal  lines  represent  heights,  whether  the  scale 
be  drawn  a  millimetre  or  a  centimetre  to  the  year  of  age. 
Not  what  we  actually  see  but  what  we  imagine  —  in  other 
words,  not  the  fused,  peripherally  excited,  but  the  associ- 
ated, centrally  excited  part  of  such  a  percept  —  is  significant. 

All  these  forms  of  perception  —  the  pure  perception,  the 
unsymbolic  and  the  symbolic  mixed  perception  —  are  admi- 
rably illustrated  from  the  word-consciousness  at  different 
stages  of  development.  To  an  animal,  to  a  savage  or  to 
a  little  child,  a  word  is  a  pure  percept,  a  fusion  of  periphe- 


Sy  in  bo  lie  Perception  183 

rally  excited  elements,  a  mere  succession  of  sounds  or  an 
irregular  outline.  To  the  educated  person,  however,  a 
word,  even  if  it  is  not  understood,  so  long  as  it  is  written 
in  familiar  letters  or  pronounced  in  familiar  sounds,  in 
fact  if  it  is  known  to  be  a  word,  is  a  mixed  percept.  The 
words  casa  and  oIkm,  for  example,  even  to  those  who  do 
not  know  their  meaning,  are  more  than  irregular,  black 
quirls  on  a  white  background.  These  fused,  peripherally 
excited  visual  elements  are  combined  with  an  assimilation 
of  centrally  excited  sensations,  the  imaged  sound  of  the 
word  and  the  throat-sensation  required  to  pronounce  it. 

A  word,  finally,  to  the  man  who  understands  it,  is  a 
symbolic  percept  in  which  the  actual  sensations,  periphe- 
rally or  centrally  excited,  included  in  the  mere  word-con- 
sciousness, are  significant  merely  as  they  suggest  others. 
In  fact,  this  word-consciousness  is  in  itself  so  unimportant 
that  it  may  be  replaced  by  the  consciousness  of  any  one 
of  half  a  dozen  words,  casa,  oIklu,  Hans,  maison,  donius 
and  still  others,  and  yet  the  essential  part  of  my  experi- 
ence in  reading  the  word  '  house  '  —  the  concrete  image  of 
a  building  —  remains  unchanged  through  all  this  permuta- 
tion of  the  fused  and  the  assimilated  elements.  Different 
people,  reading  the  same  word,  will,  however,  have  differ- 
ent images  of  the  concrete  object  which  it  suggests, 
though  their  experience  of  its  peripherally  excited  ele- 
ments, sound    and   shape,  must   be  common  to  them  all. 

In  conclusion,  mention  must  be  made  of  illusory  percepts. 
The  illusion  is  a  percept  which  does  not  directly  corre- 
spond with  any  outer  object,  though  it  contains  peripherally, 
as  well  as  centrally,  excited  sensational  elements.  It  is 
contrasted  with  the  hallucination,  which  contains  only 
centrally  excited  sense-elements.  The  dream  or  delirium 
image  of  a  ghost,  for  example,  is  a  hallucination,  because 
it  is  not  excited  by  any  external  object,  whereas  the  tradi- 
tional confusion  of  window  curtain  with  ghost  is  an  illusion. 

There  are  two  types  of  illusion,  as  of  ordinary  perception. 


1 84  Illusions 

the  '  pure  '  and  the  '  mixed.'  The  phenomena  of  contrast, 
which  have  already  been  named,^  are  probably  examples 
of  pure  illusions  containing  only  peripherally  aroused  sen- 
sational elements.  So  also  a  rotated  circle  looks  gray, 
though  the  physical  stimuli  are  the  black  and  white  sectors 
of  the  circle,  because  of  the  persistent  retinal  stimulation. 
Most  spatial  illusions  —  for  example,  the  consciousness  that 
the  upper  curve  of  an  S  is  equal  in  size  to  the  lower  curve, 
the  overestimation  of  large  angles  and  underestimation 
of  small  ones,  and  the  distortion  of  parallel  lines  by  draw- 
ing oblique  lines  through  them  ^  —  belong,  also,  to  the  class 
of  pure  illusions.  In  these  cases,  it  is  probable  that  tactile 
sensations,  usually  from  the  unobserved  motions  of  the  eye- 
balls, are  fused  with  visual  sensations  and  produce  these 
illusions.  Such  illusions,  on  the  other  hand,  as  that  of  the 
proof-reader  who  overlooks  the  omitted  letter  or  reads  the 
incorrectly  printed  word  as  correct,  obviously  belong  to 
the  class  of  mixed  illusions,  for  centrally  aroused  sensa- 
tions are  here  mixed  with  those  peripherally  excited.  The 
illusional  character,  it  should  be  added,  is  not  a  part  of  the 
illusion,  as  immediately  experienced,  but  a  later  reflection 
about  it. 

We  must  now  summarize  the  most  important  results  of 
this  chapter.  A  perception  is,  we  have  found,  a  complex 
and  limited  experience,  which  may  be  regarded  as  one  of 
a  series  of  ideas  or  as  a  consciousness,  shared  with  any 
number  of  unparticularized  selves.  It  is  analyzable  mainly 
into  sensational  elements,  but  contains  also  certain  rela- 
tional feelings  of  clearness  and  of  combination.  It  is  due 
in  part  to  peripheral  stimulation  and  may  be  classified  as 
pure  or  mixed. 

1  Cf.  Chapter  II.,  p.  30,  and  Appendix,  Section  III.,  II. 

2  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  187-203;  Titchener,  §  44.  Cf.  James,  op. 
«V.,  Vol.  11. ,  p.  249;  and  see  Titchener's  Bibliography,  "  Laboratory  Manual," 
I.  (Instructor's),  p.  305. 


r 

\  CHAPTER   XV 

IMAGINATIOxN 

We  regarded  perception  from  two  points  of  view,  and 
in  the  same  way  we  may  study  imagination,  first,  as  mere 
occurrence  of  imagQs,  and  second,  as  imagining,  the  ex- 
perience of  a  related  self. 


We  shall  first  consider  the  image,  and  shall  at  once  dis- 
cover by  introspection  that  the  image,  like  the  percept,  is 
a  complex  idea,  mainly  sensational,  but  including  also  the 
relational  elements  of  connection  and  distinctness.  So  far, 
however,  we  have  not  distinguished  the  image  from  the 
percept,  and  our  immediate  aim  must  be  the  discovery  of 
such  a  distinction.  Three  differences  at  once  suggest 
themselves,  as  one  closely  regards  almost  any  image.  If, 
for  instance,  I  close  my  eyes  and  ears,  to  isolate  myself 
from  my  perceptual  environment,  and  examine  the  result- 
ing image  of  a  book  on  the  desk  before  me,  I  find  that  it 
differs  from  my  percept  of  the  book,  first,  in  that  its  brown 
color  is  far  less  intense,  second,  in  that  certain  features 
of  the  perceived  book  —  the  gilt  lettering  and  the  stains 
on  its  surface — ^^are  lacking,  and  finally,  in  that  it  is  far 
more  evanescent  than  the  percept,  that  is,  more  readily 
displaced  by  other  images.  In  a  word,  the  percept  has, 
ordinarily,  more  intensity,  more  detail  and  more  stability 
than  the  image. ^ 

Yet  if  one  carefully  reflect  on  one's  imagined  experience, 

1  Cf.  Fechner,  "  Elemente  der  Psychophysik,"  II,,  XLIV. 

1S5 


1 86  The  Ima(re 


cy 


one  is  sure  to  find  occasional  images  which  lack  one  or 
more  of  these  characteristics.  The  percept  of  one's  bodily 
attitude,  for  example,  may  be  less  intense,  less  accurate 
and  less  permanent  than  a  visual  image  of  a  face  or  an 
auditory  image  of  a  melody  ;  one's  percept  of  an  unknown 
substance,  which  one  merely  tastes  or  smells,  may  be  less 
vivid,  also,  than  one's  visual  image  of  a  bowl  of  strawberries 
or  of  a  roasted  duck.  All  this  proves  that  intensity,  detail 
and  stability  are  merely  common  and  not  necessary  char- 
acteristics of  perception ;  and  the  failure  to  discover  a  dif- 
ference in  constitution  and  duration  between  the  percept 
and  the  image  throws  us  back  upon  the  well-known  dis- 
tinction in  physiological  conditions.  This  is  the  fact  that 
some  sensational  elements  of  the  percept  are  peripherally 
excited,  whereas  all  elements  of  the  image  are  centrally 
stimulated.  When  I  imagine  the  Blue  Grotto  at  Capri, 
only  my  occipital  lobe  is  excited,  but  when  I  look  out  at 
the  Grand  Central  Station  my  retina  is  excited  as  well ; 
when  I  imagine  the  break  in  the  second  movement  of  the 
Unfinished  Symphony,  only  my  temporal  lobe  is  excited, 
but  when  I  hear  the  street  band  outside  my  window  the 
inner  organs  of  my  cochlea  are  in  vibration. 
/'The  distinction  between  percept  and  image  is  often 
stated  in  another  way  :  it  is  said  that  the  objects  of  percep- 
tion are  real,  whereas  the  objects  of  imagination  are  unreal/ 
and  that  I  perceive  the  real  hydrant  or  cow  or  sunset, 
whereas  the  imaged  obehsk  or  parrot  or  cloud  is  unreal. 
The  chief  objection  to  this  division's  the  fact,  that  it  is 
based  on  a  philosophical  distinction,  that  of  reahty  as  op- 
posed to  unreality,  and  not  on  any  chara>:teristic  of  psychic 
or  of  physiological  facts  as  such.  It  should  be  noted  that 
this  distinction  is,  however,  almost  exactly  parallel  to  that 
between  peripherally  excited  and  centrally  excited  ideas. 
For  peripheral  excitations  come  from  what  we  call  real 
objects,  and  even  the  illusory  percept  is  at  least  occasioned 
by  a  real  object. 

In  holding  that  psychology  is  not  concerned  with  reality 


Physiological  Bases  of  Imagiiiatioii         187 

and  unreality,  we  of  course  do  not  have  reference  to  the 
feelings  of  '  real '  and  '  unreal '  which  are  frequent  factors 
of  our  experience.  A  feeling  of  realness  may  well,  how- 
ever, attach  to  an  image  as  well  as  to  a  percept  though,  on 
the  contrary,  the  image  may  contain  the  feeling  of  un- 
realness.     Most  often  the  image  lacks  either  feeling.^ 

This  brings  us  to  the  study  of  the  physiological  basis  of 
imagination.  In  all  probability,  this  differs  from  the  physi- 
ological condition  of  perception  only  in  the  ways  already 
suggested  :  in  the  first  place,  by  the  lack  of  excitation  of 
the  peripheral  end-organs,  retina,  taste-bulbs  and  the  rest ; 
and  usually,  in  the  second  place,  by  the  slighter  degree, 
duration  and  stability  of  the  cerebral  activity.  The  dif- 
ferences, to  recur  to  our  former  example,  between  the  cere- 
bral accompaniment  of  ink-bottle  percept  and  of  ink-bottle 
image,  are  these  :  first,  and  fundamentally,  the  cerebral 
discharge  is  fainter  and  therefore  less  stable  ;  and  further- 
more, it  is  less  diffused,  that  is,  fewer  cerebral  cells  are  ex- 
cited. An  experiment  performed  and  described  by  Kialpe^ 
supports  the  view  that  the  physiological  conditions  of  per- 
cept and  of  image  are  essentially  alike.  On  the  wall  of  a 
dark  room,  at  irregular  intervals,  he  threw  a  very  faint 
light.  His  subjects,  required  to  indicate  the  recurrences 
of  the  stimulus,  often  supposed  themselves  to  see  the  light 
when  it  was  not  present  —  that  is,  they  confused  the  imaged 
with  the  perceived  light,  the  centrally  excited  with  the  faint, 
peripherally  excited  sensation. 

It  has  been  held  by  some  psychologists  that  an  image  is 
distinguished  from  a  percept,  not  merely  by  the  different 
degree  and  duration,  but  by  the  different  locality  of  its 
cerebral  excitation.  Flechsig  argues  from  the  vagueness 
of  some  memory-images  that  they  may  occur  when  merely 
association-centres,  not  the  sense-centres,  are  excited,^ 
whereas  the  sense-centres  must,  of  course,  be  active  in  per- 

1  Cf.  Chapter  IX.,  p.  125. 

2  "  Giundriss  der  Psychologic,"  §  28,  2.  ^  "  Gehirn  uiid  Seele,"  p.  60. 


1 88  Imagining 

ception.  James  Ward  bases  a  similar  argument  on  the  case 
of  patients  who  are  able  to  recall  familiar  objects,  but  totally 
unable  to  recognize  them  when  they  are  seen.  He  con- 
cludes that  the  centres  for  percept  and  for  image  must  dif- 
fer, however  little,  in  locality.^  But  both  these  arguments 
are  insufficient.  The  people  who  could  recall  and  describe 
objects  named  to  them  may  have  had  purely  verbal  images, 
and  need  not  have  visuahzed  the  objects  at  all.  And  every 
image,  however  'vague,'  contains  sense-elements  and  must, 
therefore,  be  conditioned  by  the  excitation  of  sense-centres.^ 
Certain  experiments,  interesting  in  themselves,  performed 
years  ago  by  G.  H.  Meyer,  have  a  slight  bearing  ^  on  this 
question  and  confirm  the  theory  already  stated.  Meyer 
succeeded  in  getting  negative  after-images  of  colors  which 
he  had  only  imagined,  not  perceived.  This  may  mean  that 
his  retina  was  excited,  not  through  external  physical  stimu- 
lation, but  by  excitation  transmitted  by  out-going  nerves 
from  the  brain ;  this  has  suggested  the  possibility  of  a 
direct  connection,  during  imagination,  between  brain  and 
end-organs,  and  a  consequent  activity  of  the  sense-organs. 
Modern  physiologists,  however,  tend  toward  the  purely 
cerebral  account  of  such  phenomena. 

^The  image-consciousness  may,  of  course,  be  regarded  as 
personal  attitude,  instead  of  being  treated  as  mere  idea. 
From  this  point  of  view,  we  speak  of  'imagining,'  not  of 
the  'image,'  and  recognize  that  imagination,  unlike  percep- 
tion, is  a  private  and  unshared  experience.  The  world  of 
perception  is  the  external  world  which  is  common  to  every 
one  alike,  but  day-dreams  and  reveries  are  private  property 
peculiar  to  a  single  individualV  The .  life  of  imagination 
is,  in  fact,  marked  off  as  a  sort  of  private  domain  in  the 

^  Ward,  "Assimilation  anrl  Association,"  Mind,  Octolier,  1894. 

^  Cf.  Kiilpc,  op.  cit.  §  33,  6  seq.  ;  Donaldson,  "The  Cjrowth  of  the  Brain," 
p.  34;   James,  'Principles,"  I.,  p.  592,  et  al. 

^  "  Physiologische  Unlcrsuchungen  usw.,"  quoted  by  James,  o/>.  cit.,  Vol.  II., 
p.  66. 


Imagin  ing  1 8  9 

midst  of  the  public  lands  of  common  perceptual  experience. 
Once  within  this  enclosure,  one  may  turn  one's  back  upon 
the  common  lot,  and  feast  one's  eyes  and  dehght  one's  ears 
on  sights  and  sounds  which  are  not  for  other  people.  For 
one  is  powerless  to  give  entrance  to  anybody.  One  may 
long  desperately  to  share  these  private  experiences,  but  it  is 
not  possible  to  communicate  them  fully  ;  nobody  ever  per- 
fectly follows  another  person's  descriptions,  and  no  artist 
ever  finds  colors  so  glowing  as  those  of  his  imagination,  or 
ever  reduces  his  image  music  to  a  written  score. 

This  privacy  of  imagination,  which  marks  it  off  from 
perception  and  from  thought,  is  never  realized  while  we  are 
imagining.  On  the  contrary,  we  are  absorbed  in  the  imaged 
colors  and  outlines,  in  the  tones  and  in  the  harmonies,  or  in 
the  kaleidoscopic  shifting,  the  ceaseless  changes  of  our  im- 
ages ;  we  do  not  say  to  ourselves,  at  the  time,  "  This  is  my 
experience,  mine,  I  cannot  share  it ;  it  belongs  to  me  ;  other 
people  see  and  hear  what  I  see  and  hear,  but  they  do  not 
imagine  what  I  imagine  "  Only  in  our  after  reflection  about 
imagining,  do  we  assert  its  privacy,  its  unshared  nature. 

Primarily,  therefore/imagining,  unlike  perceiving,  is  an 
unsocial  experience,  since  it  denies  the  relation  of  myself 
or  of  my  experience  to  other  selves.  Indirectly,  however,  it 
is  after  all  a  social  experience.  For,  though  v/e  cannot 
assert  the  privacy  of  our  imagination  without  denying  that 
other  selves  have  a  share  in  it,  yet  this  very  denial  is  a  nega- 
tive acknowledgment  of  the  existence  of  these  other  selves. 

Imagining,  the  personal  attitude,  like  the  image  or  mere 
idea,  is  of  course  also  a  complex  experience,  including 
both  feelings  of  distinctness  and  combination,  and  sensa- 
tional elements,  centrally  excited^^^ 

II 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  the  closer  description  and 
classification  of  imagination,  whether  regarded  as  image 
or  as  imagining,  as  personal  attitude  or  as  idea,  basing  our 
discussion  on  the  following  outline  :  — 


igo  Classes  of  Iinaginatio7t 

Imagination 

(Complex  of  elements) 
The  Image  Imagining 

A.    (Classified  by  sense-order) 

I.  Concrete 

a.  Simple 

1.  Visual 

2.  Auditory 

3.  Tactual-motor, 

etc. 

b.  Mixed 

II.   \-erbal 

a.  Simple 

1.  Visual 

2.  Auditory 

3.  Tactual-motor, 

etc. 

b.  Mixed 

(Classified  also  by  form     B.  (Classified  by  novelty) 
of  association) 

\'\  total  association I.  Reproductive  Like 

/       a.   Inaccurate 
/  b.  Accurate  :  Memory 

In  partial  association  __II.  Creative  Relatively 

unlike 


the 

experience 

of  others 


The  most  obvious  of  these  divisions  is  the  classification 
according  to  content,  that  is,  according  as  the  imagination 
is  mainly  of  colors  and  shapes,  of  sounds,  of  pressures,  of 
tastes  or  of  odors.  First  of  all,  from  this  point  of  view, 
concrete  imagination,  that  is,  imagination  of  objects,  scenes 
and  events,  must  be  contrasted  with  verbal  or  symbolic 
imagination ;  and  then,  within  each  of  these  classes,  the 
varying  sense-types  must  be  enumerated. 

Concrete  imagination  may  belong  to  any  sense-order, 
but  it  is  in  the  main  either  visual,  auditory  or  tactile,  or 
else  it  belongs  to  a  'mixed'  type  including  elements  of 
several  kinds.  There  is,  in  truth,  no  particular  in  which 
individuals  differ  more  than  in  just  this  prevailing  sense- 
type   of   their   imagery.     In    recalling,    for   example,   the 


Scnsc-ordcrs  of  Iniaginaiion  191 

balcony  scene  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  some  people  see  with 
the  eye  of  the  mind  the  shadowy  form  of  Romeo  and  the 
figure  of  Juliet,  clear-cut  against  the  lighted  window,  the 
'  stony  limits,'  the  cypresses,  statues  and  fountains  of 
the  Italian  garden,  and  the  "  blessed  moon  .  .  .  that  tips 
with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops  ;  "  others,  like  Juliet, 
may  "  know  the  sound  of  that  tongue's  utterance,"  and 
may  hear,  in  imagination,  Romeo's  deep-voiced  love-making 
and  the  "  silver-sweet  sound  "  of  Juliet's  replies  "  like  soft- 
est music  to  attending  ears."  Still  others,  finally,  may 
image  Romeo's  movements  as  "with  love's  light  wings" 
he  "did  o'erperch  these  walls." 

The  study  of  an  imaginative  writer  often  reveals  the 
predominant  sense-order  of  his  imagination.  His  pages 
may  glow  with  color  or  thrill  with  music  or  quiver  with 
rhythmic  motion.  For  example,  in  the  poem  which  fol- 
lows, of  the  blind  poet,  Philip  Bourke  Marston,  there  is 
but  one  color-image,  but  the  verses  are  full  of  striking 
imasres  of  sound  and  odor :  — 


"•t)^ 


"  All  my  roses  are  dead  in  my  Garden  — 
What  shall  I  do  ? 
Winds  in  the  night,  without  pity  or  pardon, 
Came  there  and  slew. 


"All  my  song  birds  are  dead  in  their  bushes  — 
Woe  for  such  thing  ! 
Robins  and  linnets  and  blackbirds  and  thrushes 
Dead,  with  stiff  wings. 

"  Oh,  my  Garden  !  rifled  and  flowerless, 
Waste  now  and  drear  ; 
Oh,  my  Garden  !  barren  and  bowerless, 
Through  all  the  year. 

"Oh.  my  dead  birds  !  each  in  his  nest  there. 
So  cold  and  stark  ; 
What  was  the  horrible  death  that  pressed  there 
When  skies  were  dark  ? 


192  Concrete  Visual  Imagination 

"  What  shall  I  do  for  my  roses'  sweetness 
The  Summer  round  — 
For  all  my  Garden's  divine  completeness 
Of  scent  and  sound  ? 

"  I  will  leave  my  Garden  for  winds  to  harry : 
Where  once  was  peace, 
Let  the  bramble  vine  and  wild  brier  marry, 
And  greatly  increase. 

"  But  I  will  go  to  a  land  men  know  not  — 
A  far,  still  land, 
Where  no  birds  come,  and  where  roses  blow  not, 
And  no  trees  stand  — 

"  Where  no  fruit  grows,  where  no  Spring  makes  riot. 
But,  row  on  row, 
Heavy,  and  red,  and  pregnant  with  quiet 
The  poppies  blow. 

"And  there  shall  1  be  made  whole  of  sorrow, 
Have  no  more  care  — 
No  bitter  thought  of  the  coming  morrow, 
Or  days  that  were." 

There  is  but  one  touch  of  color  in  this  garden,  the  con- 
ventional red  of  the  poppies;  its  summer-time  charm  is 
'  its  divine  completeness  of  scent  and  sound  ' ;  and  its  au- 
tumn cheerlessness  does  not  consist  in  dull  and  faded  color- 
ino;,  thousih  there  is  a  mere  mention  of  dark  skies,  but  in 
winds,  and  cold,  and  in  *  the  horrible  death  which  pressed 
there.' 

It  is  easy  to  discover  by  introspection  the  prevailing 
sense-order  of  one's  concrete  imagery.  One  has  only  to 
imagine  or  recall,  in  succession,  certain  definite  scenes  or 
objects,  and  to  ask  oneself  whether  the  resulting  image  is 
of  colors  and  forms,  of  sounds,  of  pressures,  of  odors  or  of 
tastes,  or  a  mixture  of  some  or  all  of  these  elements.  The 
visual  is  probably  the  most  common  type  of  concrete  im- 
agery, for,  in  spite  of  great  differences  in  vividness  and 
accuracy,  there  are  few  people  who  cannot  imagine  objects 
in  some  vague  outline  or  dull  color.     Visual  images  are, 


CoJicrete  Visual  Imagination  193 

however,  in  almost  every  experience,  supplemented  by  per- 
cepts of  pressure  and  of  sound,  as  when  we  '  localize  '  a 
touch  by  imagining  the  look  of  wrist  or  of  forehead  on 
which  it  falls,  or  a  sound  by  imagining  the  shape  and  po- 
sition of  the  piano-key  which  occasions  it.  Every  sculptor, 
painter  or  architect  who  sees  his  vision  before  he  embodies 
it  has  visual  imagination.  The  inventor  also  'sees'  his 
engine  or  his  dynamo  in  all  its  parts  and  connections,  be- 
fore he  enters  upon  the  actual  construction  of  it;  and  the 
well-dressed  woman  sees  the  end  from  the  beginning,  the 
completed  gown  within  the  shapeless  fabric.  Above  all, 
visual  imagination  is  the  endowment  of  geometrician  and 
astronomer.  There  is  no  more  vulgar  error  than  the  every- 
day supposition  that  the  mathematician  is  ipso  facto  unim- 
aginative. On  the  contrary,  there  is  no  more  lofty  order 
of  imagination  than  that  which  sees  the  planets  moving  in 
their  courses,  and  which  images  the  projections  and  inter- 
sections of  lines  and  planes  '  produced  to  infinity ' ! 

Yet  in  spite  of  the  value  of  visual  images  to  artists,  in- 
ventors and  mathematicians,  it  must  be  at  once  acknowl- 
edged that  even  to  them  the  visual  type  of  imagination  is 
not  indispensable,  but  that  it  may  be  replaced  by  what  we 
know  as  the  tactile  type,  the  imaging  of  the  movements 
necessary  to  the  production  of  sculpture,  machine  or  figure. 
A  well-known  statistical  inquiry,  carried  on  by  Francis 
Galton,  led  unmistakably  to  this  conclusion.  Galton's  ques- 
tions concern  one's  image,  on  a  given  day,  of  that  morn- 
ing's breakfast  table. ^     The  questions  refer  to  — 

"  I.  Illuininatioii.  —  Is  the  image  dim  or  fairly  clear.'' 
Is  its  brightness  comparable  to  that  of  the  actual  scene .'' 

"2.  Definition.  —  Are  all  the  objects  pretty  well  defined 
at  the  same  time,  or  is  the  place  of  sharpest  definition  at 
any  one  moment  more  contracted  than  it  is  in  a  real  scene  1 

"3.    Coloring.  —  Are    the    colors    of    the    china,  of   the 


1  "  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,"  p.  84.     For  a  very  detailed  questionary 
on  image-types,  cf.  Titchener,  §  51,  p.  198. 
O 


194  Conc7'ete  Visual  Jjiiagiuation 

toast,  bread  crust,  mustard,  meat,  parsley  or  whatever  may 
have  been  on  the  table,  quite  distinct  and  natural  ?  " 

As  result  of  this  investigation,  Galton  found  that  "  men 
who  declare  themselves  entirely  deficient  in  the  power  of 
seeing  mental  pictures  .  .  .  can  become  painters  of  the 
rank  of  Royal  Academicians."  And  James  says  of  him- 
self, "  I  am  a  good  draughtsman  and  have  a  very  lively 
interest  in  pictures,  statues,  architecture,  and  decoration, 
and  a  keen  sensibility  to  artistic  effects.  But  I  am  an  ex- 
tremely poor  visualizer,  and  find  myself  often  unable  to 
reproduce  in  my  mind's  eye  pictures  which  I  have  most 
carefully  examined."^  In  these  cases,  a  quickness  to  rec- 
ognize and  to  discriminate  colors  and  forms  is  combined 
with  the  inability  to  imagine  them.  Evidently,  the  visual 
images  are  here  replaced  by  tactile  images  —  the  images 
of  the  motions  necessary  to  the  production  of  sculpture, 
machine  or  figure  :  a  sculptor  of  this  type  reproduces  in 
imagination  the  movements  of  his  chisel,  and  the  geome- 
trician draws  his  figure  or  indicates  by  imaged  movements 
the  sweep  of  orbits  and  the  intersection  of  Hnes. 

Kiilpe  discovered,  experimental!}^,  the  same  lack  of  visual 
imagination.^  He  tested  the  color-imagery  of  several  stu- 
dents by  pronouncing  in  a  darkened  room  the  names  of 
colors  and  requiring  them  to  describe  the  resulting  experi- 
ences. One  of  these  young  men  proved  utterly  incapable, 
with  the  strongest  effort,  of  imagining  any  color  whatever. 
Another  historic  example  is  Charcot's  patient,  a  man  whose 
visual  imagery  was  impaired  through  nervous  disease. 
"Asked  to  draw  an  arcade,  he  says,  'I  remember  that  it 
contains  semicircular  arches,  that  two  of  them  meeting  at 
an  angle  make  a  vault,  but  how  it  looks  I  am  absolutely 
unable  to  imagine.'  .  .  .  He  complains  of  his  loss  of  feeling 
for  colors.  '  My  wife  has  black  hair,  this  I  know  ;  but  I 
can  no  more  recall  its  color  than  I  can  her  person  and 
features! '"3 

1  op.  cit.,  II.,  p.  53.  2  op.  fit.,  §  27,  9.  3  cf,  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  p.  59. 


Concrete  Imagination  195 

The  auditory  image-type  is  unquestionably  less  common 
than  the  visual,  and  it  is  almost  always  closely  combined 
with  imagery  of  the  motor-tactual  sort.  It  is  the  image- 
type  of  the  great  musicians,  of  Beethoven,  for  example, 
who  composed  his  symphonies  when  totally  unable  to  hear 
a  note  of  them.  But  though  less  significant  to  most  of  us 
than  the  visual  images,  the  concrete  auditory  imagination 
belongs,  at  least  in  some  degree,  to  all  people  who  are  able 
to  recall  voices  and  melodies.  The  prevalence  of  auditory 
imagery  is  suggested  by  the  ordinary  ruse  of  violin  players, 
who  produce  the  effect  of  a  dimiuncndo,  lengthened  beyond 
the  actual  sound,  by  continuing  the  drawing  motion  of  the 
bow  when  it  no  longer  touches  the  string. 

The  tactile  type  of  imagination  is,  as  we  have  noticed, 
ordinarily  'motor,'  that  is,  the  most  significant  pressure- 
images  are  those  of  the  internal  pressures  occasioned  by 
bodily  movements.  The  image  of  the  feel  of  'velvet'  or 
'silk,'  of  the  consistency  of  dough,  of  the  resistance  of  the 
water  when  one  is  swimming,  of  one's  shortened  breath 
as  one  is  wheeling  up  a  hill,  are  examples  of  pressure- 
images. 

Images  of  the  other  '  dermal '  sense-types,  that  is,  images 
of  pain,  of  warmth  and  of  cold,  seldom  if  ever  occur. 
They  seem  to  be  supplanted  by  the  corresponding  periphe- 
rally aroused  sensations.  The  vivid  account  of  a  wound 
or  a  physical  injury  may  excite,  through  the  connection 
of  sensory  cells  with  motor-cells  and  fibres,  the  actual, 
visceral  pressure-sensations  which  constitute  the  feeling 
of  faintness,  and  it  may  even  excite  the  pain  end-organs. 
In  the  same  way,  I  grow  actually  hot  over  a  remembered 
mortification  and  I  shiver  with  cold  at  a  revived  fear. 

Smell  and  taste  images  are  so  infrequent  that  their  ex- 
istence is  often  denied.  It  is  said  that  when  we  imagine 
objects  fragrant  in  themselves,  such  as  roses  or  cheese  or 
coffee,  we  imagine  their  look  or  their  feel  without  imagin- 
ing their  odor;  and  that  when  we  suppose  ourselves  to 
imagine  tastes,  we  are  really  imagining  the  vivid  colors  or 


196  Concrete  I^nagination 

the  graceful  outlines  of  a  repast,  not  the  actual  taste  of  the 
food.  So  when  Eve  '  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent '  be- 
stirs her  to  make  ready  a  feast  for  Raphael,  we  are  told 
that :  — 

"  fruit  of  all  kinds,  in  coat 
Rough  or  smooth  rined,  or  bearded  husk,  or  shell 
She  gathers,  tribute  large,  and  on  the  board 
Heaps  with  unsparing  hand.     For  drink,  the  grape 
****** 

From  many  a  berry,  and  from  sweet  kernels  pressed 
She  tempers  dulcet  creams." 

There  are  tactile  images  in  plenty  but  not  a  single  definite 
taste-image  in  this  picture ;  ^  and  the  description  which 
follows  ^  is  full  of  rich  color  but  lacks  imagined  tastes. 

"  There,  on  a  slope  of  orchard,  Francis  laid 
A  damask  napkin  wrought  with  liorse  and  hound, 
Brought  out  a  dusky  loaf  that  smelt  of  home, 
And,  half-cut  down,  a  pasty  costly  made. 
Where  quail  and  pigeon,  lark  and  leveret  lay, 
Like  fossils  of  the  rock,  with  golden  yolks 
Imbedded  and  injellied." 

But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  absence  of  taste 
and  smell  descriptions  may  be  due,  wholly  or  in  part,  to 
our  lack  of  taste  and  smell  words.  Francis,  for  example, 
could  hardly  have  described  the  taste  of  the  brown  and 
fossil-shaped  quail  or  of  the  golden  yolks,  had  he  been  so 
inclined.  And  though  smell  and  taste  images  are  rela- 
tively infrequent,  it  is  certain  that  many  persons  some- 
times imagine  tastes  and  smells.  A  recent  inquiry  among 
fifty  college  students,  somewhat  trained  in  introspection, 
disclosed  the  fact  that  thirty-one  are  sure  that  they  can 
imagine  certain  odors,  such  as  the  smell  of  tar,  burning 
sulphur,  furnace  gas  and  mignonette.  Several  observers, 
also,  who  have  carefully  observed  and  recorded  their  dreams, 

1  Quoted  by  Grant  Allen,  "  Physiological  ^Esthetics." 


Concrete  hnagination  197 

are  certain  that  they  have  occasional  dreams  of  unequivo- 
cal tastes  and  smells.  There  is  a  simple  biological  reason 
for  the  comparative  infrequency,  in  the  civilized  conscious- 
ness, of  olfactory  and  gustatory  images.  In  the  primitive 
stages  of  life,  the  sense  of  smell  plays  an  important  part 
in  the  discovery  of  approaching  dangers,  and  processes 
of  eating  have  relatively  greater  importance  than  in  civil- 
ized life.  Accordingly,  we  have  every  reason  to  think  that 
the  smell  and  taste  images  are  well  developed  among 
savages. 

More  common,  than  any  of  these  classes  of  concrete 
imagery,  is  that  to  which  we  have  already  referred  as  the 
'mixed  type.'  The  image  of  any  object  is  likely,  in  other 
words,  to  include  elements  of  more  than  one  sense-order  : 
it  is  not  wholly  visual  and  still  less  is  it  entirely  auditory 
or  tactile.  Either  the  visual  or  auditory  elements  may 
predominate,  but  an  image  —  of  a  dinner-party,  for  ex- 
ample—  is  rarely  a  mere  complex  of  the  colors  and  forms 
of  dresses,  faces,  candles,  flowers,  foods,  nor  yet  of  the 
sounds  of  conversation,  laughter  and  service,  but  it  in- 
cludes both  visual  and  auditory  images,  perhaps  with  a 
tactile  image  also  of  the  '  feel '  of  linen  or  of  silver,  and 
a  gustatory  or  olfactory  image  of  the  taste  of  lobster  or 
the  odor  of  jonquils.  Excluding,  therefore,  a  very  few  in- 
dividuals, who  may  have  imagery  of  one  sense-type  only, 
the  great  majority  of  people  have  either  a  mere  predomi- 
nance of  one  sort  over  another,  or  else  the  strictly  mixed 
type  of  image,  in  which  several  sense-types  are  combined, 
and  no  one  of  them  is  especially  prominent. 

Contrasted  with  all  these  classes  of  concrete  imagery  are 
the  word-types,  which  are  far  more  prevalent  than  any  one, 
save  the  psychologist,  realizes.  In  the  experience  of  many 
people  these  altogether  crowd  out  the  concrete  images. 
We  suppose  ourselves  to  be  imagining  the  Roman  Cam- 
pagna,  the  Sistine  Madonna  or  the  ninth  symphony  of 
Beethoven,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  are  simply  say- 


198  Verbal  Imagination 

ing  to  ourselves  the  words  '  campagna,'  '  madonna,'  '  sym- 
phony.' Of  course  this  is  an  artificial  state  of  affairs. 
Words  are  conventional  symbols,  not  instinctive  reactions ; 
they  play  no  part  at  all  in  the  imaginative  life  of  animal 
or  of  baby,  and  little  part  in  that  of  the  savage.  The 
civilized  being,  however,  is  born  into  a  world  of  people 
whose  most  characteristic  activity  is  neither  eating,  walk- 
ing nor  fighting,  but  talking.  At  first,  through  pure  imi- 
tation, and  afterwards  because  he  recognizes  the  utility  of 
language,  he  largely  occupies  himself  with  words,  first 
heard  and  spoken,  and  later  read  and  written.  And  as 
habits  fall  away  through  disuse,  so,  little  by  little,  in  the 
experience  of  most  of  us,  word-images  take  the  place  of 
concreter  images  of  color,  sound  and  the  like.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  dwell  on  the  immense  utility  of  verbal  images, 
for  we  are  already  victims  of  what  Mr.  Garrison  calls  '  the 
ignorant  prejudice  in  favor  of  reading  and  writing,'  and, 
he  might  have  added,  '  of  talking.'  Words  serve  not  only 
as  the  means  of  communication,  and  thus  as  the  surest 
method  of  social  development,  but  —  by  their  abstract, 
conventional  form  —  as  an  aid  to  rapid  memorizing  and 
to  clear  reasoning ;  they  are  indispensable  parts  of  our 
intellectual  equipment ;  yet  they  are  in  themselves  but 
poor  and  insignificant  experiences,  and  they  work  us 
irreparable  harm  if  they  banish,  from  the  life  of  our 
imagination,  the  warm  colors,  broad  spaces,  liquid  sounds 
and  subtle  fragrances  which  might  enrich  and  widen  our 
experience. 

We  have  ample  proof  that  this  is  no  purely  fictitious 
danger.  Galton's  most  significant  conclusion  is  that  the 
"faculty  of  seeing  pictures,  ...  if  ever  possessed  by  men 
'  of  highly  generalized  and  abstract  thought,  is  very  apt  to 
be  lost  by  disuse."  Many  of  the  '  men  of  science,'  whose 
imagination  he  tested,  had  "  no  more  notion "  of  the 
nature  of  visual  imagery  "  than  a  color-blind  man  .  .  .  has 
of  the  nature  of  color.  '  It  is  only  by  a  figure  of  speech,'  " 
one  of  them  says,  " '  that  I  can  describe  my  recollection  of 


Verbal  Imagination  199 

a  scene  as  a  mental  image  that  I  can  see  with  my  mind's 
eye,  ...  I  do  not  see  it  .  .  .  any  more  than  a  man  sees  the 
thousand  lines  of  Sophokles  which  under  due  pressure  he 
is  ready  to  repeat.'  "  Every  mixed  figure  is  in  truth  a  wit- 
ness to  the  common  lack  of  concrete  imagery.  The  ear- 
nest preacher  who  exhorted  his  hearers  to  fill  their  lamps 
at  the  fountain  of  knowledge,  and  the  fervid  orator  who 
bewailed  the  cup  of  Ireland's  misery  as  '  long  running 
over,  but  not  yet  full,'  were,  of  course,  without  the  visual 
images  which  their  words  should  suggest.  Doubtless, 
most  of  their  hearers  received  these  astounding  statements 
without  a  quiver  of  amusement  —  not,  primarily,  because 
they  lacked  a  sense  of  humor,  but  because  they  were  with- 
out visual  imagination. 

The  study  of  the  varying  forms  of  verbal  imagination 
discloses  the  fact,  that,  like  the  forms  of  concrete  imagina- 
tion, they  belong  usually  to  a  visual,  an  auditory,  a  tactile 
or  a  '  mixed  '  class,  though  they  may  conceivably  be  of 
other  sense-types.  The  good  visualizer  images  his  words 
as  they  are  printed  on  a  page,  reading  them  off,  sentence 
by  sentence  or  verse  by  verse,  recalling  the  precise  part 
of  the  page  on  which  a  given  word  or  sentence  appears. 
Galton  tells  of  a  statesman  who  sometimes  hesitates  in  the 
midst  of  a  speech,  because  plagued  by  the  image  of  his 
manuscript  speech  with  its  original  erasures  and  correc- 
tions. Even  musicians  may  be  helped  by  symbolic  im- 
agery and  may  play  by  mentally  reading  their  scores. 
Again,  verbal  images  may  be  of  words  as  heard ;  and 
such  masters  of  musical  verse  as  Sophokles,  Tennyson 
and  Swinburne  must  have  auditory  verbal  imagery.  One 
may  '  hear '  words  spoken  by  oneself  or  by  others,  one 
may  listen  in  imagination  to  conversations  between  differ- 
ent people,  or  one  may  recall  whole  scenes  of  a  play  in 
the  characteristic  intonations  of  different  actors.  "  '  When 
I  write  a  scene,'  said  Legouve  to  Scribe,^  '  I  hear  but  you 

1  Quoted  by  W.  James,  op.  cit ,  Vol.  II.,  p.  60,  from  Binet. 


200  Verbal  Iinaorination 


^ 


see.  In  each  phrase  which  I  write,  the  voice  of  the  per- 
sonage who  speaks  strikes  my  ear.  Vous  qui  etcs  le 
theatre  vieme,  your  actors  walk,  gesticulate  before  your 
eyes;  I  am  a  listener,  you  a  spectator.'  'Nothing  more 
true,'  said  Scribe ;  '  do  you  know  where  I  am  when  I 
write  a  piece  ?     In  the  middle  of  the  parterre.'  " 

One's  verbal  imagery,  finally,  may  be  of  the  tactual- 
motor  type  ;  one  may  imagine  oneself  as  speaking,  or,  less 
often,  as  writing  the  words.  A  simple  proof  of  the  fre- 
quent occurrence  of  these  motor-images  was  suggested  by 
Dr.  Strieker :  ^  the  attempt  to  imagine  a  word  containing 
several  labials  —  such  a  word  as  'bob'  or  'pepper'  —  with- 
out the  faintest  imaged  or  actual  movement  of  the  Hps. 
Most  people  will  be  unsuccessful  in  such  an  experiment, 
which  brings  to  light  the  presence,  in  many  word-images, 
of  these  centrally  excited  motor-sensations,  the  conscious- 
ness of  those  movements  of  throat  and  lips  which  accom- 
pany our  actual  pronunciation  of  words.  Even  the  distinct 
effort  to  visualize  words  results,  for  people  of  the  tactile 
type,  in  motor-images.  James,  for  example,  "  can  seldom 
call  to  mind  even  a  single  letter  of  the  alphabet  in  purely 
retinal  terms.  I  must  trace  the  letter,"  he  says,  "  by 
running  my  mental  eye  over  its  contour."  This  tactile 
(or  tactual-motor)  and  the  mixed  tactile-auditory  type,  in 
which  one  most  often  has  the  image  of  both  hearing  and 
'  feeling '  oneself  talk,  are  perhaps  the  most  common  forms 
of  verbal  imagery. 

The  various  phenomena  of  aphasia,  the  cerebral  disease 
affecting  the  word-consciousness,  confirm  these  results  of 
introspection.  They  show  that  verbal  imagery  is  impaired 
by  injury  to  the  visual,  to  the  auditory  or  to  any  tactual- 
motor  centre,  or  by  injury  to  the  fibres  connecting  these 
areas,  and  that  corresponding  with  these  different  patho- 
logical conditions,  there  may  be  independent  loss  of  words 
as  read,  as  heard,  as  spoken  or  as  written.^ 

^  "  Studien  iiher  die  Sprachvorstellungen."     Cf.  James,  Vol.  II.,  p.  63. 
2  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  II. 


Verbal  Imagination  201 

Several  general  conclusions  follow^from  the  study  of 
the  sense-orders  of  our  images  >-^e  impossibility,  first 
of  all,  of  supposing  that  any  normal  person  is  unimagina- 
tive. Since  imagination  is  not  of  necessity  an  artistic 
impulse,  a  lofty  soaring  in  empyrean  isolation  from  the 
everyday  life,  but  merely,  as  we  have  seen,  the  possession 
of  images  of  colors,  sounds,  pressures,  odors,  tastes  or 
even  of  words,  it  follows  that  everybody  who  is  conscious 
of  anything  whatever,  in  its  absence,  is  in  so  far  imagina-  ^ 
tive^When  I  am  conscious  of  the  hat  which  I  yesterday 
bought  or  of  the  dinner  which  I  shall  eat  to-day,  no  less 
than  when  I  muse  upon  the  picture  I  shall  paint  or  of 
the  world  I  shall  discover,  I  am  possessed  of  mental 
images,  that  is,  I  am,  in  a  strict  sense,  imaginativ^.-^Our 
study,  furthermore,  makes  it  clear  that  almost  everybody 
is  capable  of  rousing,  within  his  consciousness,  vivid  and 
accurate  images  of  one  sort  or  another^  If,  try  as  he  will, 
the  colors  are  washed  out  and  the  outlines  indistinct  in  his 
visual  images  of  an  opera  or  of  a  country  outlook,  he  may 
hear,  in  imagination,  the  varying  parts  of  strings  and  horns 
in  the  orchestral  prelude,  the  melodies  of  the  songs  and 
the  harmonies  of  the  choruses,  or  the  liquid  bird-notes, 
lapping  waves  and  murmuring  leaves  of  the  summer  after- 
noon. Even  the  minor  image-types  may  be  well  developed, 
as  the  experiences  of  many  defectives  show.  Recognition 
is  not,  it  is  true,  an  invariable  test  of  imagination,^  yet  the 
blind  woman  who  recognized,  garments,  fresh  from  the 
laundry,  by  her  sense  of  smell,  and  who  sorted  in  this  way 
the  fresh  linen  of  a  whole  institution,  presumably  also  had 
images  of  many  different  odors.  Helen  Keller,  who  has 
been  blind  and  deaf  from  earliest  childhood,  so  that  she 
can  have  neither  visual  nor  auditory  images,  has,  never- 
theless, peculiarly  vivid  and  detailed  mental  images  of 
pressures,  movements  and  even  of  tastes  and  smells.^ 


1  Cf.  p.  194. 

2  Cf.  Perkins  Institute  Annual  Report,  1891,  p.  90. 


k 


202  Reproductive  Inuiginatwn 

/a  second,  common  division  of  the  image-consciousness 
is  based  upon  the  distinction  between  the  repeated  and 
the  relatively  novel  experience.  We  characterize  as  '  re- 
productive '  our  consciousness  of  places  we  have  seen,  of 
music  we  have  heard,  and  of  events  which  we  have  lived 
through  or  heard  about.  And  we  contrast  with  this  the 
creative  imagining  of  new  faces,  new  scenes  and  new 
environments.  Of  course  this  newness  never  extends  to 
the  elements  of  consciousness,  but  only  affects  their  com- 
binationV'  That  is  to  say,  nobody  ever  imagines  an  abso- 
lutely new  color  or  sound  or  taste,^  but  novel  combina- 
tions of  color,  sound  and  taste  may  be  imagined  by 
painter,  by  musician  and  by  artist-cook.  The  creative 
imagination,  in  the  words  of  Ruskin,'-^  "  regarding  such 
qualities  only  as  it  chooses  for  a  particular  purpose,  .  .  . 
forges  these  qualities  together  in  such  groups  and  forms 
as  it  desires." 

The  most  important  form  of  reproductive  imagination  is 
memory,  the  accurately  repeated  experience.  Its  signifi- 
cance in  our  conscious  life  is  so  great  that  we  shall  do 
well  to  devote  an  independent  chapter^  to  the  study  of  it. 
In  comparing  the  mere  reproductive  imagination  (other 
than  memory)  with  creative  imagination,  we  must  be  on 
our  guard  against  a  popular  misconception,  the  belief  that 
the  value  of  imagination  is  properly  gauged  by  its  inven- 
tiveness. At  this  rate  the  "Leavenworth  Case"  and  the 
"  Mother  Goose"  rhymes  are  marks  of  higher  imagination 
than  "Cranford"  and  the  "Child's  Garden  of  Verses," 
and  the  novels  of  Jules  Verne  are  more  imaginative  than 
Thackeray's.  The  truth  is  that  not  novelty,  however 
highly  prized,  but  vividness  and  fidelity,  form  the  supreme 
test  of  imagination.  "  A  work  is  imaginative,"  George 
Lewes  declares,*  "  in  virtue  of  the  power  of  its  images  over 

1  Cf.  Hume  ("Treatise  of  Human  Nnture,"  Bk.  I.,  Pi.  I.,  Section  I.  )  for  a 
SuggestitJii  that  a  'new'  intciisitv  mic;lit  l)e  imagined. 

2  "  Modern  Painters,"  Vol.  H.,  Pt.  IH.  ■'  Cf.  Chapter  XVI. 
*  "  Principles  of  .Success  in  Literature,"  Chapter  HI, 


Creative  Imagination  203 

our  emotions,  not  in  virtue  of  any  rarity  or  surprisingness 
of  the  images  themselves ; "  and  Ruskin  says  that  "  the 
virtue  of  originahty  that  men  so  strain  after  is  not  new- 
ness (there  is  nothing  new),  it  is  only  genuineness."  For 
the  novel  image,  if  it  is  not  also  truthful,  is  mere  distortion, 
and  the  reproduction,  if  distinct  in  outline,  intense  in 
color  and  accurate  in  characteristic  detail,  is  an  image  of 
far  higher  type.  To  quote  Lewes  once  more  :  "  The  under- 
lying principle  of  the  true  poet  is  that  of  'vision  in  art,' 
and  his  characteristic  method  is  great  accuracy  in  depict- 
ing things  ...  so  that  we  may  be  certain  the  things 
presented  themselves  to  the  poet's  vision  and  were  painted 
beca^use  seen." 

'^Two  main  forms  of  creative  imagination  are  ordinarily 
distinguished :  the  mechanical  and  the  organic.  The 
mechanical  image  is  a  complex,  not  of  qualities,  but  of 
relative  totals,  of  experiences  complete  in  themselvesyas  if 
a  painter  were  to  combine  the  hair  of  del  Sarto's  Caritas, 
with  the  flesh  of  Rubens's  Magdalene  and  the  figure  of 
Raphael's  Madonna  della  Sedia.  /The  organic  image  is 
a  complex,  not  of  totals,  complete  in  themselves,  but  of 
single  elements  or  of  fragmentary  aspects  of  different 
objects,  which  fuse  into  a  new  whole  of  organically  related 
parts.  Within  the  class  of  organic  imagination,  one  may 
distinguish,  also,  the  fanciful  from  the  universal  imagina- 
tion, on  the  ground  that  the  first  lays  stress  on  unessen- 
tial qualities  which  accidentally  interest  an  individual, 
the  second  on  essential,  universally  appealing  qualitie^ 
Ruskin's  comparison  of  Milton's  description  of  the  '  pansy 
freaked  with  jet '  with  Shelley's  verses  about  the  daisy, 
'  constellated  flower  that  never  sets,'  clearly  indicates  the 
difference  between  the  evanescent,  individual,  trivial  nature 
of  the  '  fanciful '  and  the  abiding,  universal  charm  of  the 
essentially  imaginative.^ 


1  This  classification  closely  follows   Ruskin's,  though  his  terms  differ  from 
purs.      'Reproductive    Imagination'    he    names    the    'Theoretical    P^aculty.' 


204  Images  in    Total  Association 

The  foregoing  classification  of  imagination,  first  accord- 
ing to  sense-types  and  then  according  to  novelty,  is  possible 
whatever  our  fundamental  conception  —  whether,  in  other 
words,  we  start  from  a  theory  of  the  image,  the  mere  idea, 
or  from  the  standpoint  of  imagining,  the  personal  attitude. 
The  terms  'imagining'  and  'image'  have,  therefore,  been 
used  indiscriminately  in  the  description  of  the  classes  of 
imagination.  We  must  notice,  however,  that  the  distinc- 
tion of  reproductive  from  productive  imagination  is  more 
readily  stated  in  terms  of  the  personal  consciousness  than  in 
terms  of  mere  successive  ideas.  For  reproductive  imagina- 
tion, though  it  is  indeed,  as  imagination  and  not  percep- 
tion, peculiarly  my  own,  none  the  less  usually  resembles 
other  people's  experience ;  whereas  creative  imagination  is, 
by  its  very  nature,  essentially  unhke  the  perceptions  and 
imaginations  of  others.  The  distinction  between  fancy 
and  universal  imagination  is  even  more  definitely  made 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  relation  of  one  self  to 
others. 

A  final  distinction  of  importance  requires  the  conception 
of  the  image-consciousness  as  succession  of  ideas.  This  is 
the  classification  of  images,  according  as  they  are  associated 
with  a  preceding  percept  or  image,  as  totality,  or  with  a 
persisting  element  or  group  of  elements  of  consciousness ; 
that  is  to  say,  according  as  they  occur  in  '  total '  or  in  '  par- 
tial '  association.  People  whom  we  call  unimaginative  are 
those  whose  association  is  of  the  relatively  total  type,  to 
whom  the  present  scene  or  object,  as  a  whole,  suggests  the 
succeeding  image.  The  imagery  of  the  '  imaginative ' 
person,  on  the  other  hand,  is  characterized  by  focalized, 
associative  synthesis ;  some  infinitesimal  feature  of  the 
present  scene  or  object  suggests  the  succeeding  image.  An 
unimaginative  child,  for  example,  bidden  to  write  a  compo- 

'  Mechanical  Imagination  '  he  calls  '  Composition,  not  Imagination.'  '  Organic 
Imagination '  he  names  '  Penetration,'  and  what  we  have  called  *  Universal 
Imagination'  is  his  'Contemplation.' 


hnagcs  in  Partial  Association  205 

sition  about  a  cup,  informs  us  that  a  cup  is  for  drinking, 
that  it  has  a  saucer,  that  some  cups  are  made  of  tin  and 
some  of  china.  In  the  eyes  of  the  imaginative  child,  on  the 
contrary,  a  cup  is  not  primarily  a  vessel  of  clay,  but  a  prize, 
the  reward,  perhaps,  of  some  champion  in  a  wheeling  con- 
test. To  the  literal  child  the  cup  is  just  a  cup,  suggesting, 
as  a  whole,  the  saucer  in  which  it  rests  or  the  material  of 
which  it  is  made.  The  keener  imagination  seizes  upon 
one  fragmentary  aspect  of  the  cup,  one  only  among  its 
various  uses,  and  this  becomes  the  starting-point  of  some 
tale  of  thrilling  adventure.  In  the  same  way,  the  image  by 
total  association  is  characteristic  of  the  garrulous  story- 
teller, who  cannot  name  a  man's  father  without  detailing 
the  family  genealogy,  nor  mention  a  town  without  recall- 
ing the  period  of  its  settlement.  The  true  poet  or  artist, 
on  the  contrary,  the  creative  scientist  or  mathematician, 
the  seer  in  any  domain  of  conscious  life,  has  visions  linked 
together  by  the  subtler  connections  of  the  partial  or  focal- 
ized association. 

It  is  evident  that  the  value  of  images  through  partial 
association  will  depend  upon  the  selection  of  elements,  in  a 
total  fact  of  consciousness,  as  starting-point  of  the  associa- 
tion. If  the  artist's  attention  is  absorbed  in  the  accidental 
markings  of  the  flower  and  not  rather  in  its  outline,  in  the 
variegated  figures  of  the  gown  and  not  in  the  expression  of 
the  face,  in  the  brilliancy  of  the  conversations  and  not  in 
the  development  of  the  characters,  his  imagery  is  fantastic, 
realistic,  brilliant,  but  does  not  belong  to  imagery  of  the 
highest  order  or  the  most  abiding  value. 

This  division  into  'totally  associated'  and  'partially 
associated  '  images  is  very  nearly,  though  not  completely, 
parallel,  as  will  be  observed,  with  the  distinction  of  repro- 
ductive from  productive  imagination.  Our  outline  ^  indi- 
cates the  results  of  a  comparison  of  the  two  forms  of 
classification.     It  is  evident  at  once  that  the  image  in  total 

1  Cf.  p.  190. 


2o6  Prosaic  Imagination 

association  is  always  reproduced,  since  a  given  subject,  as  a 
whole,  if  it  suggests  anything,  must  remind  me  of  some- 
thing connected  with  it  in  my  own  experience.  On  the 
other  hand,  an  object  in  partial  association  may  be  either 
reproduced  or  novel  (though  of  course  each  separate  part 
of  it  is  reproduced,  since  only  combinations,  never  elements 
of  consciousness,  are  novel). 

All  these  distinctions  are  illustrated,  in  a  very  striking 
way,  by  a  comparison  of  Shelley's  "  Sensitive  Plant "  with 
Cowper's  "Winter  Garden."  "Who  loves  a  garden,"  is 
Cowper's  prosaic  beginning,  — 


^     .     .     loves  a  greenhouse  too. 
Unconscious  of  a  less  propitious  clime, 
There  blooms  exotic  beauty,  warm  and  snug, 
While  the  winds  whistle  and  the  snows  descend. 
The  spiry  myrtle  with  unwith'ring  leaf 
Shines  there,  and  flourishes.     The  golden  boast 
Of  Portugal  and  western  India  there, 
The  ruddier  orange,  and  the  paler  lime. 
Peep  through  their  polishd  foliage  at  the  storm, 
And  seem  to  smile  at  what  they  need  not  fear. 
Th'  amomum  there  with  intermingling  flowVs 
And  cherries  hangs  her  twigs.     Geranium  boasts 
Her  crimson  honors,  and  the  spangled  beau, 
Ficoides,  glitters  bright  the  winter  long. 
All  plants,  of  ev'ry  leaf,  that  can  endure 
The  winter's  frown,  if  screened  from  his  shrewd  bite, 
Live  there,  and  prosper.     Those  Ausonia  claims, 
Levantine  regions  these  ;  th'  Azores  send 
Their  jessamine,  her  jessamine  remote 
Caffraia ;  .     .     .     ." 


No  one  can  read  this  list  of  flowers  without  the  conviction 
that  Cowper  is  either  '  reproducing  '  the  rows  of  plants  as 
he  saw  them  one  after  another  in  a  greenhouse,  or  else 
that  he  is  framing  an  image  after  the  most  mechanical 
fashion.  There  is  certainly  little  that  is  individual  in  the 
entire  description,  and  the  images,  regarded  from  the  stand- 
point of  association,  are  connected  as  undifferentiated  totals, 


Poetic  Imagination  207 

instead  of  being  broken  up  into  more  remotely  suggestive 
elements. 

Shelley  also  enumerates  the  flowers  of  his  garden,  but  in 
a  very  different  manner. 

"  The  snowdrop,  and  then  the  violet. 
Arose  from  the  ground  with  warm  rain  wet, 
And  their  breatii  was  mixed  with  fi-esh  odor,  seni; 
From  the  turf,  lii<e  the  voice  and  the  instrument. 

"  Then  the  pied  wind-flowers  and  the  tulip  tall, 
And  narcissi,  the  fairest  among  them  all, 
Who  gaze  on  their  eyes  in  the  stream's  recess, 
Till  they  die  of  their  own  dear  loveliness ; 

"And  the  Naiad-like  lily  of  the  vale. 
Whom  youth  makes  so  fair  and  passion  so  pale, 
That  the  light  of  its  tremulous  bells  is  seen 
Through  their  pavilions  of  tender  green." 

Wc  have  here  neither  a  reproduction  nor  a  mechanical 
composition,  but  an  organically  related,  individual  experi- 
ence. Almost  every  one  of  these  exquisite  images  is  con- 
nected in  partial  association  with  that  which  has  preceded 
it :  the  mingling  of  earth-fragrance  with  the  odors  of  the 
flowers  suggests  the  interpenetration  of  voice  and  instru- 
ment ;  the  early  fading  of  the  narcissi,  mirrored  in  the 
stream,  rouses  the  fancy  that  they  "  die  of  their  own  dear 
loveliness  ;  "  the  tall  lily  leaves  suggest  sheltering  pavilions. 
And,  side  by  side  with  Cowper's  superficial  and  fanciful 
comparison  of  Ficoides  with  the  spangled  beau,  Shelley's 
images  of  music,  of  beauty  and  of  passion  fairly  throb  with 
life  and  with  meaning. 

The  classification  of  images,  by  the  type  of  their  associa- 
tive connection  with  other  psychic  facts,  takes  no  account  of 
the  possibility  of  'free,'  that  is  of  psychically  unconnected, 
images.  Ordinary  experience  furnishes  many  apparent 
illustrations  :  the  unexpected  images  which  spring  up  con- 
trary to  the  trend  of  one's  thought  —  the  ludicrous  image. 


2o8  Free  hnap'es 


i> 


for  example,  which  upsets  one's  gravity  on  a  solemn  occa- 
sion, or  the  sudden  apparition,  without  warning,  of  a  long- 
forgotten  face  or  scene.  Many  of  these  images,  it  is  true, 
are  not  really  free,  that  is,  unassociated,  but  are  actually 
connected  by  some  common,  but  unattended-to,  feature 
with  the  preceding  fact  of  consciousness.  The  sudden 
image  of  Michael  Angelo's  Fawn,  for  instance,  athwart  a 
religious  service  reverently  followed,  may  really  be  induced 
by  an  accidental  and  almost  vmnoticed  glimpse  of  a  gro- 
tesque profile  ;  and  the  forgotten  name  which  rises  to  my 
lips,  in  the  midst  of  my  reading,  may  be  itself  suggested  by 
the  rhythm  of  a  word  on  the  page  before  me.  There  still 
remain,  however,  instances  of  images  which  seem  utterly 
unconnected,  and  incapable  of  connection,  with  the  preced- 
ing facts  of  consciousness. 

One  way  of  accounting  for  these  free  images  is  a  mere 
restatement,  in  metaphorical  terms,  of  their  occurrence  :  a 
forgotten  idea  is  said  to  exist  below  the  threshold  of  con- 
sciousness, an  associated  idea  is  defined  as  one  which  has 
risen  to  the  threshold  of  consciousness  through  the  help  of 
another  idea,  and  a  free  idea,  finally,  is  described  as  one 
which,  quite  unaided  and  solely  by  its  own  power,  reap- 
pears in  consciousness.  The  assumption,  on  which  this 
associationist  theory  is  based,  is  the  continued  existence  of 
psychic  facts  of  which  no  one  is  conscious. ^  This  concep- 
tion, however,  is  'logically  and  psychologically  impossible, 
for  a  psychic  fact  is  by  definition  a  fact  of  consciousness, 
and  an  unconscious  fact  of  consciousness  is  as  impossible 
as  a  straight  curve.  The  only  explanation  of  the  '  free 
image '  is,  indeed,  in  cerebral  terms ;  it  is  due  to  a  func- 
tioning of  fibres,  connecting  different  brain-areas,  and 
perhaps  also  to  the  excitation  of  association-centres  in  the 
brain ;  but  this  cerebral  activity  is  unaccompanied  by 
consciousness. 

This  long  chapter  will  be  concluded  by  a  practical  remark 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XXVIII.,  p.  438. 


Development  of  Imagination  209 

upon  the  means  of  fostering  and  of  enriching  the  life  of  the 
imagination.  The  development  of  imagination  is  primarily 
an  education  of  perception.  To  gain  clear  and  vivid  images, 
one  must  first  possess  accurate  and  vivid  percepts.  For, 
since  the  central  nervous  excitation  is  originally  brought 
about  by  the  peripheral,  since  the  image,  in  other  words, 
follows  upon  the  percept,  unless  one  has  intense  and  clearly 
outlined  percepts,  satisfactory  images  are  impossible.  I 
am,  therefore,  deliberately  cultivating  my  imagination  when 
I  shut  myself  away  from  distracting  objects,  fixate  keenly, 
and  prolong  as  far  as  I  can  the  object  of  perception.  A 
classic  example  of  this  method  is  given  by  Wordsworth  in 
his  "Daffodils":  — 

"  I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 
What  wealth  to  me  the  show  had  brought, 
For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  the  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude." 

This  at  once  suggests  the  justification  of  the  effort  to 
develop  the  life  of  the  imagination.  For  imagination  is 
more  than  the  '  bliss  of  soHtude  '  and  the  light  of  mo- 
notony ;  its  bright  colors  may  overlay  the  sordid  discomforts 
of  one's  actual  environment,  and  its  music  may  drown  the 
discordant  cries  of  the  present  reality.  By  imagination, 
in  truth,  every  man  may  create  a  world  of  his  own  ;  and  to 
widen  and  vivify  his  imagination  is  to  widen  and  enrich 
this  world  of  his  inalienable  possession. 


I 


/. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
IMAGINATION  {continued)  :    MEMORY 


Memory  has  been  defined  already  as  accurate,  reproduc- 
tive imagination,  and  its  essential  feature  is,  therefore,  the 
exactness  of  the  repetition.  In  framing  this  definition,  we 
must  not  ignore  the  fact  that  the  word  'memory'  is  often 
used,  with  entirely  different  meaning,  in  the  sense  of 
recognition  or  consciousness  of  familiarity/  Since,  how- 
ever, the  two  conceptions,  '  repetition  '  and  the  '  feeling  of 
familiarity,'  are  not  perfectly  parallel,  it  is  wisest  to  use 
the  term  '  memory  '  in  the  former  sense,  and  not  to  make  it 
equivalent  to  recognition. 

/^emory  is  distinguished,  merely  as  complete  or  incom- 
pletp<^  My  memory  of  a  friend,  for  example,  may  include 
a  consciousness  of  his  name  and  history ;  I  may  know  that 
we  travelled  to  Olympia,  ten  years  ago,  in  the  same  party ; 
that  we  next  met  at  a  musicale  in  New  York ;  that  his 
ancestors  came  over  with  WiUiam  the  Conqueror ;  that  he 
has  studied  in  Berlin;  that  his  wife  is  a  blonde;  and  that 
he  now  belongs  to  the  diplomatic  corps  in  Vienna.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  may  say  that  I  remember  a  man  when  I 
have  merely  a  correct  verbal  image  of  his  name,  or  a  vague, 
yet  accurate,  image  of  the  scene  of  our  meeting.  Strictly 
speaking,  a  memory  is  incomplete  unless  it  resembles  all 
conceivable  details  of  the  past ;  and  absolutely  complete 
memory  is  certainly  very  rare.  The  usual  test  of  the 
completeness  of  memory  is  the  ability  to  name  an  object, 
but,  important  as  the  name-image  is,  it  is  not  sufficient  to 
constitute  a  memory  complete.  In  itself,  indeed,  the  name 
of  person  or  of  object  is  the  least  important  of  details,  and 

2IO 


Conditions  of  Memory  2 1 1 

is  significant  only  as  peculiarly  suggestive  of  other  facts. 
The  plot  of  a  novel,  the  interests  and  achievements  of  one's 
companion  at  dinner,  the  way  to  reach  one's  destination 
—  all  these  are  of  more  importance  than  the  bare  verbal 
images  of  the  names  of  book,  of  man,  or  of  street. 

This  chapter  will  concern  itself  especially  with  the 
conditions  of  what  is  called  a  good  memory,  and  with 
the  means  of  strengthening  the  memory,  or  tendency  to 
accurate  reproduction.  The  conditions  of  memory  cer- 
tainly deserve  especial  study,  for  everybody  knows  the 
importance,  in  all  caUings  and  walks  of  life,  of  images 
exactly  resembling  previous  experience  —  precise  reproduc- 
tions of  name,  scene,  event  and  verbal  sequence.  It  is 
true,  to  be  sure,  that  the  importance  of  memory  may  be 
overestimated.  There  are  many  things  which  we  may 
rediscover  as  easily  as  we  may  recall  them ;  and  there  are 
countless  details  which  it  is  perfectly  useless  to  remember. 
Memory  should  never,  therefore,  be  an  end  in  itself  irrespec- 
tive of  its  content,  and  James  is  quite  right  in  his  observa- 
tion 1  on  the  farmer  who  remembered  the  kind  of  weather 
on  every  day  of  forty-two  years,  —  "  pity  that  such  magnifi- 
cent faculty  could  not  have  found  more  worthy  application." 
As  a  basis  for  other  sorts  of  experience,  reproductive  imagi- 
nation is,  however,  of  great  significance.  Emotional  life 
is  the  more  vivid  the  more  one  relives  past  experiences, 
and  intellectual  achievement  is  conditioned  by  the  readi- 
ness and  accuracy  with  which  one  recalls  results  already 
gained.  The  commonest  and  most  effective  method  for 
stimulating  memory  is  repetition  of  the  fact  to  be  recalled. 
Given  a  sufficient  number  of  repetitions  of  a  percept  or 
image  which  is  not  too  complicated,  and  any  normal  per- 
son may  recall  anything !  The  difference  in  individual 
memories  may,  in  fact,  be  tested  by  discovering  the  differ- 
ent amounts  of  repetition  required  for  memorizing  the 
same  material  under  similar  conditions. 

Repetition  is  one  of  the   most  important  pedagogical 

1  op.  lit..  Vol.  T.,  p.  66i. 


2 1 2  Repetition  of  Images 

methods,  precisely  because  it  is  always  at  hand.  No  amount 
of  fixation  or  narrowing  can  give  intensity  to  certain  experi- 
ences, but  one  may  repeat  stimuli  until  they  are,  willy-nilly, 
recalled.  The  comparative  value  of  this  heavy  labor  of 
repetition  has,  however,  to  be  considered.  Is  the  play 
worth  the  candle .''  we  must  ask  ourselves.  Is  the  repro- 
duction worth  the  expenditure  of  time  and  energy  by  which 
alone  it  is  secured  }  This  is  a  question  to  be  decided  afresh 
for  almost  every  type  of  experience,  by  every  individual. 
Some  things,  such  as  the  multiplication  table  and  the  sense- 
less spelling  of  English  words,  one  simply  must  be  able  to 
recall,  however  wearisome  the  repetition.  Other  details, 
such  as  the  names  of  one's  students  or  the  dates  of  Greek 
history,  one  may  be  sorrowfully  resigned  to  lose,  for  lack 
of  time  to  drill  oneself  often  enough  in  them. 

Very  valuable  and  painstaking  experimentation  has  con- 
cerned itself  with  the  more  exact  relations  between  repe- 
tition and  reproduction.  Most  important  is  the  work  of 
Dr.  Hermann  Ebbinghaus,^  whose  experiments  on  himself 
were  carried  on  through  two  periods  of  more  than  a  year 
each.  As  material  he  used  twenty-three  hundred  meaning- 
less syllables,  of  three  letters,  arranged  in  series  of  varying 
length.  The  immediate  aim  of  each  experiment  was  the 
discovery  of  the  number  of  readings  necessary  to  the  cor- 
rect, unhesitating  reproduction  of  the  series  from  first  to  last 
syllable.  The  experiments,  in  the  first  place,  confirm  ordi- 
nary experience,  showing,  among  other  things,  (i)  that  the 
time  of  learning  increases  with  the  length  of  series,  and 
(2)  that  the  greater  the  number  of  repetitions  the  shorter 
the  time  in  which  a  series  can  be  relearned.  The  experi- 
ments also  supplement  everyday  observation  in  several  par- 
ticulars. They  show  that  more  is  forgotten,  in  the  first 
fifteen  minutes  after  learning  such  a  series,  than  in  the 
month  which  follows  the  quarter-hour ;  and  that  one  can 
reproduce  as  much  of  it  after  a  month  as  after  two  days. 

1  "  Uber  das  Gedachtniss,"  Leipzig,  1S85. 


Association  of  Images  21 


v) 


Another  method  of  facilitating  reproduction  is  of  incom- 
parably greater  significance  in  the  Hfe  of  consciousness.  It 
consists  in  the  association,  or  relation,  of  the  fact  to  be  re- 
called with  other  facts.  As  James  says,  "  The  secret  of  a 
good  memory  is  the  secret  of  forming  diverse  and  multiple 
associations  with  every  fact  we  care  to  retain."  There  are 
three  ways  in  which  this  multiplication  of  associations 
faciHtates  memory.  It  contributes  to  a  completer  first-hand 
knowledge  of  the  fact  to  be  recalled  ;  it  increases  the  num- 
ber of  topics  which  are  likely  to  recall  this  one ;  and  it 
connects  the  fact  to  be  remembered  with  other  facts,  into 
a  system  so  close  that  only  one  central  fact,  in  place  of  a 
multitude  of  different  ones,  has  to  be  recalled.  In  illustra- 
tion of  the  effectiveness  of  the  multiplication  of  relations, 
let  us  suppose  that  I  wish  to  recall  the  year,  1861,  of  my 
cousin's  birth,  and  that  I  cannot  directly  remember  it.  I 
proceed  to  associate  the  year  with  other  events,  the  admis- 
sion of  Kansas  as  a  free  state  and  the  firing  on  Fort  Sumter. 
The  effort  to  recall  the  date  is  now  likely  to  be  successful, 
through  first  reminding  me  of  one  or  more  of  the  historic 
dates.  The  experiments  of  Ebbinghaus,  already  described, 
incidentally  corroborate  this  conclusion.  A  comparison 
of  the  repetitions,  necessary  to  memorize  his  meaningless 
series,  with  those  required  for  certain  stanzas  of  Byron  — 
series  of  words  directly  connected  in  meaning  and  rich  in 
other  associations  —  showed  an  enormous  reduction  of  time 
in  the  later  experience. 

The  mere  multiplication  of  suggestions  is,  however,  far 
less  effective  than  the  systematic  grouping  of  facts  to  be 
remembered  by  some  fundamental  likeness.  I  am  study- 
ing, we  will  suppose,  the  fall  of  Constantinople  and  the 
consequent  dispersion  of  scholars  and  renaissance  of  learn- 
ing ;  I  connect  this  intellectual  awakening  with  the  'con- 
temporaneous invention  of  printing  ;  I  observe  the  analogy 
of  this  mental  progressiveness  with  the  outbreak  of  the 
adventurous  spirit  of  travel  and  the  consequent  discovery 
of  America ;  and  thus  I  bind  all  these  events  to  the  well- 


214  Apperception  of  Images 

known  date  of  the  landing  of  Columbus,  remembering  them, 
not  in  their  detail,  but  as  an  organic  unity.  To  remember 
Greek  verb-forms  by  their  connection  with  a  common  root, 
or  poems  by  their  adherence  to  a  certain  verse-scheme,  are 
illustrations  of  the  same  method.  Most  mnemonic  devices, 
on  the  contrary,  merely  multiply  unrelated  associations,  or 
else  combine  the  facts  to  be  remembered  in  artificial  sys- 
tems of  insignificant  facts.  The  fundamental  memory- 
method  is  thus  the  unification  or  grouping  or,  as  it  has  been 
called  by  Herbart  and  Wundt,  the  apperception  of  facts 
in  a  whole  of  related  parts.  This,  however,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  what  we  mean  by  judgment  and  reasoning,  and 
characterizes  all  effective  intellectual  achievement.  We 
are  justified,  therefore,  in  the  assertion  that  successful 
memorizing  must  be  thoughtful ;  and  in  the  consoUng 
conclusion  that  even  the  physiologically  '  unretentive ' 
individual  can  strengthen  his  memory,  by  persistent  seek- 
ing for  fundamental  similarities,  by  constant  widening  of 
his  thought-systems  to  include  more  and  more  details. 
Facts  thus  intimately  interwoven  with  the  very  '  warp  and 
woof '  of  one's  mental  life  simply  cannot  be  unravelled  or 
forgotten. 

The  next  and  last  of  these  rules  for  the  cultivation  of 
memory  involves  the  principle  of  selection  :  the  memory 
is  more  effective  when  the  fact  to  be  remembered  belongs 
to  the  natural  image-type ;  the  visualizer,  for  example,  has 
most  accurate,  complete  and  readily  suggested  visual 
images.  So  far  as  possible,  therefore,  one's  memorizing 
should  use  this  natural  sense-material ;  and  one  should 
visuahze,  or  repeat,  or  hsten  to  the  words  to  be  remembered, 
according  as  one's  memory  is  visual,  '  motor,'  or  auditory  ; 
indeed,  one  should  ordinarily  employ  all  three  methods, 
since  most  people's  images  are  of  what  is  called  the  mixed 
type.  This  is  one  of  the  principles  underlying  many  so- 
called  modern  methods  of  education.  The  child  no  longer 
studies  his  spelling  lesson  merely  by  glaring  at  the  open 
page,  but  he  repeats  it  and  writes  it  and  listens  to  it.     And 


Verbal  Memory  215 

one  learns  to  read  one's  Greek  not  merely  '  at  sight,'  but 
'at  hearing,'  that  is,  one  familiarizes  oneself  with  the 
sound  as  well  as  with  the  sight  of  the  words.  The  most 
universally  effective  application  of  this  principle  is  in  the 
effort,  so  far  as  possible,  to  replace  the  verbal  by  the  con- 
crete memory  image. ^  Almost  without  exception,  every- 
body remembers  concrete  experiences  more  readily  than 
bare  words,  and  very  naturally,  since  the  words  are  ordi- 
narily insignificant  in  themselves,  and  only  useful  when 
they  serve  to  suggest  these  same  concrete  things.  This  is 
one  great  reason  why  it  is  better  to  travel  for  oneself  than 
to  read  descriptions  of  foreign  lands,  and  better  to  watch  a 
machine  in  motion  than  to  hear  an  account  of  its  move- 
ments. It  is  a  reason,  also,  why  it  is  absolutely  essential  to 
practise  oneself  in  translating  the  words  one  reads  into 
concrete  images,  so  that  one  never  leaves  a  page  without 
'seeing'  the  faces  or  scenes  which  have  been  described. 
Many  word-series,  it  is  true,  are  significant  in  them- 
selves, as  well  as  representative  of  concrete  meanings. 
These  are  the  words  of  the  great  poets  and  the  masters 
of  aesthetic  prose,  word-series  with  a  music  of  their  own, 
a  liquid  modulation  of  sound,  a  swinging  metre  or  a  win- 
ning alliteration.  The  value  of  an  exact  verbal  memory 
for  great  poetry  and  for  majestic  prose  is,  therefore, 
simply  immeasurable.  It  widens  and  invigorates  the  life 
of  imagination,  enriches  the  literary  style,  increases  the 
mental  effectiveness.  The  ability  to  recall,  word  for  word, 
Hebrew  psalms,  Homeric  descriptions,  Roman  oratory, 
Shakespearian  drama  and  German  lyrics  means  the  sure 
possession  of  what  the  greatest  artists  have  wrought,  and 
the  potent  means  of  enriching  and  ennobling  one's  life  of 
aesthetic  enjoyment  and  intellectual  aspiration.  It  follows, 
of  course,  that  every  child  should  be  trained  to  commit  to 
memory  poems  and  prose  works  of  literary  beauty.     Yet 

^  Cf.  Kirkpatrick,  Psychological  Revieio,  Vol.  I.,  p.  602;  cf.  also  "Short 
Studies  in  Memory  and  Association  from  the  Wellesley  College  Psychological 
Laboratory,"  Psycholopcal  Review,  Vol,  V,,  p.  452. 


2i6  Verbal  Memory 

a  caution  is  needed.  All  forms  of  memorizing  are  intel- 
lectual exercises  of  secondary  importance,  since  memory, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  subsidiary  to  the  life  of  thought,  of 
emotion,  and  of  will.  Now,  there  are  many  people,  whose 
verbal  memory  is  so  abnormally  dull  and  inaccurate,  that 
they  might  better  devote  themselves  to  problems  in  arith- 
metic, experiments  in  chemistry  or  study  of  Greek  syntax, 
than  to  memory  exercises  of  any  sort.  Many  a  child  has 
been  hunted  and  harried  into  a  condition  of  abject  misery 
by  the  requisition  of  so  many  poems  per  week,  and  many 
an  older  student  has  devoted  time  to  memorizing  his  three 
hundred  lines  of  Shakespeare  which  might  better  have 
been  applied  to  understanding  their  meaning.  In  a  word, 
then,  a  good  verbal  memory  is  an  intellectual  luxury,  not 
a  capacity  indispensable  to  vigorous  mental  life.  Great 
pains  should,  therefore,  be  taken  to  stimulate  and  to  cul- 
tivate it,  but  when  an  individual  is  almost  utterly  devoid 
of  it,  he  should  not  be  condemned  to  a  life  of  ceaseless 
and  all  but  useless  repetition. 

/The  physiological  conditions  of  memory,  as  distinguished 
from  mere  imagination/ perhaps  demand  more  extended 
consideration.  /It  is  evident,  in  the  first  place,  that  the 
efficiency  of  memory  is  in  part  affected  by  what  has  been 
called  the  retentiveness  of  brain-substance,  that  is,  its 
tendency  to  reexcitation.  ^"This  '  tenacity,'  as  James  calls 
it,  differs  enormously  in  different  individuals,  and  or(;lina- 
rily  decreases  from  youth  to  age.  It  is  probably  increased, 
to  some  degree,  by  the  prolongation  of  intense  stimuli  in 
attentive  perception,  and  also  by  the  repetition  of  stimuli 
in  voluntary  memorizing.  Differences  in  the  physiological 
retentiveness  of  distinct  brain-areas  are  regarded  in  the 
selection  of  natural  memory-material  for  memorizing/ 
But,  though  it  is  hkely  that  this  neural  tendency  to  re- 
excitation  may  be  strengthened,  especially  by  the  repeti- 
tion of  stimuli,  it  must  nevertheless  be  admitted  that,  as 
James  has  pointed  out,  the  effect  of  repetition  is  a  limited 


Physiolugical  ConditioJis  of  Aloiiory        217 

one,  strengthening  the  memory  for  particular  facts  or 
words  only,  instead  of  promoting  a  general  ability  to 
recall  all  sorts  of  facts.  "  No  amount  of  culture,"  James 
says,^  "  would  seem  capable  of  modifying  a  man's  general 
retentiveness."  "  This,"  he  adds,  "  is  a  physiological  qual- 
ity given  once  for  all  with  his  organization,  which  [an 
individual]  can  never  hope  to  change,"  except  as  he 
betters  it  by  generally  helpful  bodily  conditions.  Evi- 
dently, therefore/the  most  important  .physiological  results 
of  memory-methods  are  the  origination,  the  multiplication, 
the  strengthening  and  the  unification  of  connections 
among  the  different  brain-centres,  and  are  brought  about 
by  the  systematic  development  of  associations./ 

1  op.  cit.,  Vol.  I,  pp.  663, 664.  .-'iTIf^ETTc^^ 


CHAPTER    XVII 
THOUGHT  :    GENERALIZATION 


In  this  chapter,  we  shall  discuss  the  experience  usually 
known  as  thought,  from  the  two  points  of  view  already  famil- 
iar to  us.  We  shall  study  '  the  thought,'  the  temporally  dis- 
tinct idea,  without  explicit  reference  to  any  self,  and  we  shall 
also  consider  'thinking,'  the  experience  of  a  self.  Accord- 
ing to  the  first  of  these  conceptions,  a  thought  is  described 
merely  as  a  complex  idea,  in  which  untemporal,  relational 
elements  are  prominent.  In  other  words,  a  thought  is  the 
immediate  consciousness  of  a  synthesis  or  unity  which  is 
not  temporal.  It  is  contrasted,  on  the  one  hand,  with 
association  and  fusion,  forms  of  unity  of  which  one  is  not 
immediately  conscious,  and  on  the  other  hand,  with  mem- 
ories, beliefs  and  volitions,  which  are,  as  we  shall  see, 
ideas  of  temporal  unity,  of  the  relation  of  present  to  past 
or  to  future.-^ 

But  though  we  may  regard  thought  as  a  mere  succession 
of  temporally  distinguished  thoughts,  yet  it  also  means 
more  than  this ;  we  are  always  conscious  of  thinking 
selves  as  well  as  of  succeeding  thoughts.  Thought,  in 
this  sense,  is  like  perception,  which  has  been  defined  as 
social  experience,  that  is,  as  consciousness  shared  with 
other  selves.  For  generalization,  judgment  and  compar- 
ison, the  more  important  forms  of  thought,  are  experiences 
which  we    suppose  ourselves    to  share  with  an  indefinite 

1  For  instances  of  this  common  theory  of  thought  as  consciousness  of 
unit;.',  tT.  Wundt,  "  Physiolog.  Psychologic,"  3'^  Aufl.  p.  495;  Ladd,  "Psy- 
chology Dcscriiitive  and  Explanatory,"  p.  432,  and  Hoffding,  "  Outlines  of 
Psychology,"  Jing.  trans.,  p.  173. 

218 


Thinking  219 

number  of  unparticularized  other  selves.  There  is  some- 
thing private  and  particular  about  our  reveries  and  our 
day-dreams,  but  our  thoughts  are  never  regarded  as  per- 
sonal property.  Our  castles  in  Spain  are  private  dwell- 
ings, but  the  great  halls  of  thought  swing  wide  to  every 
comer.  This  is  most  readily  illustrated  from  the  more 
abstract  sorts  of  thinking,  and  the  most  striking  of  all 
examples  are  from  logic  and  mathematical  science.  No 
man  appropriates  the  multiplication  table  or  the  axiom 
that  '  things  equal  to  the  same  thing  are  equal  to  each 
other,'  or  the  theorem  that  the  sum  of  the  angles  of  a 
triangle  equals  two  right  angles,  as  an  experience  peculiar 
to  himself.  One  would  as  soon  lay  special  claim  to  the 
stars  in  their  courses  or  to  the  law  of  gravitation.  But  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  abstract  sciences  most  brilliantly 
illustrate  the  social  character  of  thinking,  any  generaliza- 
tion or  judgment,  however  concret'e,  is  also  as  conceivably 
a  common  experience.  Not  merely  one's  conception  of 
'  numeral '  or  of  '  triangle,'  but  one's  general  notion  of 
'  food  '  or  of  '  animal '  is  always  acknowledged  as  shar- 
able  or  public,  as  in  no  sense  a  particular  experience  of 
one's  own.  It  makes  no  difference  to  our  psychological 
analysis,  whether  or  not  we  are  correct  in  this  assumption 
that  our  conceptions  and  judgments  are  shared.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  we  are  often  most  wofully  mistaken,  and 
arguments  usually  arise  from  the  unrealized  difference  in 
the  concepts  marked  by  the  same  word.  But,  none  the 
less,  we  do  always  in  our  thinking  assume  the  conceivable 
universality  of  the  experience,  we  acknowledge  that  other 
selves  have,  or  may  have,  the  concepts  which  we  possess, 
and  that  they  make  or  might  make  the  same  judgments 
on  the  same  subjects. 

From  imagination,  or  the  hypothetically  unsharable  ex- 
perience, and  from  emotion,  will  and  faith,  the  acknowl- 
edged relation  to  strongly  individualized  selves,  thinking, 
like  perceiving,  is  thus  distinguished  as  a  common  experi- 
ence of  'any,'  that  is  of  unparticularized,  selves.     In  the 


2  20  Thinking 

case  of  most  forms  of  thinking,  the  recognition  of  this  com- 
munity of  experience  is  usually  an  after  reflection,  not  an 
immediate  constituent  of  the  thought.  In  the  moment  of 
comparing  or  in  that  of  judging,  one  may  not  realize  the 
actual  or  possible  conformity  of  another's  consciousness. 
One  may  note  the  difference  between  two  chords  or  one 
may  reason  about  the  outcome  of  the  Spanish  War,  without 
any  conscious  acknowledgment  of  the  possible  agreement 
of  everybody  else.  Conception,  or  generalization,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  a  form  of  consciousness  in  which,  as  in  emo- 
tion, the  consciousness  of  other  selves  is  an  inevitable  and 
a  significant  part  of  the  experience.  The  very  word  '  any,' 
the  characteristic  epithet,  as  we  shall  find,  of  the  general 
notion,  has  a  sort  of  personal  aroma.  'Any  cat,'  'any 
triangle,'  'any  truth,' —  these  expressions  always  mean  to 
us  not  merely  the  presence,  in  these  facts  of  consciousness, 
of  a  relational  factor,  but  their  reference  to  an  indefinite 
number  of  unindividualized  selves.  '  Any  triangle '  is  the 
triangle  in  which  the  features  which  I  chance  to  imagine, 
the  size  and  color  and  degree  of  obhqueness,  are  quite  un- 
important, whereas  the  triangularity  (the  part  experienced 
by  everybody  who  thinks  of  the  triangle)  is  altogether 
essential. 

Since  thinking,  then,  like  perceiving,  acknowledges  the 
common  experience  of  unparticularized  other  selves,  the 
question  arises.  How  is  it  to  be  distinguished  from  perceiv- 
ing .''  From  the  purely  social  standpoint  there  is  in  fact 
no  distinction  between  the  two,  but  they  are  contrasted 
from  another  point  of  view.  It  has  been  shown  that  de- 
veloped perception  takes  account  of  '  external  things  ' ;  and 
that  physical  externality  involves  two  factors,  (i)  admitted 
reference  to  any  selves,  and  (2)  assumed  independence  of 
all  selves.  The  thought,  as  distinct  from  the  thing,  lacks 
precisely  this  second  element  of  physical  externality.  Com- 
parison, concept  and  judgment,  the  facts  of  thought,  are 
never  supposed,  as  'things'  are,  to  be  independent  of  the 
selves  who  think.     Multiplication   table   and   geometrical 


Generalization  221 

figures  and  laws  of  thought,  in  spite  of  the  certainty  and 
universality  which  sharply  distinguish  them  from  the  law- 
less and  capricious  and  private  objects  of  our  imagination, 
are  yet  regarded  as  conscious  experiences,  psychic  phe- 
nomena, not  physical  things  ;  in  other  words,  they  are  never 
cut  loose  from  selves ;  and  this  is  their  great  distinction 
from  objects  of  perception. 

II 

In  whatever  way  one  regards  thought,  whether  as  a 
thought  or  as  thinking,  as  mere  idea  in  a  series,  or  as  shared 
experience  of  selves,  it  is  a  complex  consciousness  which 
may  be  analyzed  into  elements,  and  which  includes  always 
a  relational  element  without  temporal  reference.  We  shall 
proceed  to  the  closer  analysis  and  description  of  the  most 
important  forms  of  thought.  Obviously,  there  are  as  many 
types  of  thought  as  there  are  relational  elements  without 
temporal  reference.  We  shall,  however,  confine  our  dis- 
cussion to  the  three  sorts  of  thought  most  often  considered  : 
conception,  judgment  and  reasoning,  referring  incidentally 
also  to  comparison,  the  thought-complex  distinguished  by 
feelings  of  likeness  and  of  difference. 

a.     GENERALIZATION 

By  generalization  (or  conception)  we  may  mean  both  gen- 
eralizing, the  personal  experience,  and  the  general  notion, 
or  concept,  the  idea  regarded  without  reference  to  any  self. 
Both  alike  are  complex  experiences  including  the  relational 
feeling  of  generality.  In  what  follows,  we  shall,  it  is  true, 
most  often  consider  the  '  general  notion,'  that  is,  the  com- 
plex idea  ;  but  all  that  we  shall  say  will  be  perfectly  ap- 
plicable to  generalizing,  the  personal  experience. 

We  must  first  discuss  the  nature  of  the  feeling  of  gen- 
erality. My  consciousness  of  '  a  rose,'  for  example,  is  a 
case  of  concrete  perception,  mainly  a  complex  of  sensa- 
tions ;  when,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  conscious  of  '  rose,' 


222  The  Feeling  of  Generality 

my  experience  includes  not  only  the  image,  probably 
blurred  or  dull,  of  a  rose  (very  likely  of  more  than  one 
rose),  but  another  feeling,  quite  different  from  any  sensa- 
tional or  affective  experience.  We  may  call  this  supple- 
mentary experience  the  feeling  of  generality,  and  we  shall 
probably  find  that  it  includes  two  simpler  experiences,  that 
of  hkeness  and  that  of  wholeness.  In  other  words,  the  feel- 
ing of  generality  involved  in  my  consciousness  of  '  vase  '  or 
of  'justice'  seems  to  me  to  include  both  the  feeling  with 
which  I  observe  similar  objects  and  the  feehng  with  which 
I  observe  a  group  of  objects.  In  actual  experience,  how- 
ever, I  seldom  attend  to  the  feeling  of  likeness  and  that  of 
wholeness,  as  distinct  from  each  other,  but  rather  to  the 
fused  feeling  of  generality. 

This  attempted  analysis  of  our  feeling  of  generality 
labors,  of  course,  under  the  difficulties  attending  all 
merely  introspective  analysis  of  relational  elements.  But 
it  should  be  observed  that  this  account  of  conception  is, 
in  its  general  features,  explicitly  or  virtually  the  view  of 
many  psychologists.  Wundt  definitely  adopts  it^  by  the 
expression  '  characteristic  concept-feeling  (eigenthiimlicher 
Begriffsgefuhl) ' ;  Ladd  clearly  implies  it^  by  the  state- 
ment, "the  individually  similar  becomes  the  universally 
identical  "  ;  and  it  is  the  most  important  teaching  of  James 
on  this  subject.  He  calls  the  "sense  of  sameness  .  .  .  the 
very  keel  and  backbone  of  our  thinking,"  '^  and  means  by 
this  almost  exactly  what  has  been  expressed  in  the  state- 
ment, that  the  feeling  of  generality  is  the  consciousness  of 
the  Hkeness  of  a  group,  or  whole,  of  facts. 

We  must  now  recur  to  the  assertion  that  the  idea  of 
generality  may  be  combined  with  any  content  of  con- 
sciousness. It  follows  that  general  notions  will  be  most 
readily  classified  as  (i)  simple,  when  the  feeling  of  gen- 
erality is  combined  with  an  element  of  consciousness,  as  in 

1  Op.  cit..  Vol.  IT.,  Chapter  XVII.,  p.  477. 

2  "  Psychology,  Descriptive  and  I'^.xplanatory,"  p.  434. 

3  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  XII.,  p.  459, 


Classes  of  General  Notion  223 

the  concepts  '  blueness,'  '  loudness,'  '  pleasantness,'  '  one- 
ness,' and  (2)  complex,  when  the  idea  of  anyness  is  com- 
bined with  a  combination  of  elements  as  in  the  concepts 
'animal,'  'fear,'  '  comparison.'     Such  a  classification  sharply 
opposes  a  traditional  view  of  the  general  notion,  the  doc- 
trine that  generalization  differs  in  toto  from  every  other 
conscious  experience,  so  that  when  we  are  generahzing  we 
cannot  be  at  the  same  time  perceiving  or  imagining,  and 
that  conversely,  when  we  are  perceiving  or  imagining,  we 
are   not    at    the    same   time    generalizing.      The    general 
notion,  on  this  view  of  it,  is,  in  fact,  a  not-sensation,  a  not- 
image  and  the  like.     John  Locke  has  given  a  famous  ex- 
ample of  the  absurdity  to  which  this  doctrine  leads,  by  his 
attempt  to  illustrate  it  in  the  case  of  a  concrete,  co.mplex 
concept.      The  general  notion  of  a  triangle,  he  tells  us,^ 
must  be  the  consciousness  of  a  '  triangle  —  neither  oblique 
nor  rectangle,  neither  equilateral  nor  equicrural  nor  scale- 
non,  but  all  and  none  of  these  at  once.'     This  illustration 
of  a  complex  general  notion,  which  is  not  at  the  same  time 
an  image  or  percept,  sufficiently  disposes  of  the  theory  that 
generalization  is  an  exclusive  sort  of   consciousness ;    for 
everybody  realizes,  with  Bishop  Berkeley,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible "  by  any  effort  of  thought  [to]  conceive  the  .  .  .  idea 
above  described."  "-    The  truth  is,  as  we  have  seen,  that  the 
generality  of  an  experience  is  a  supplemental  feature  of  it, 
attaching  itself  as  readily  to  a  complex  as  to  an  element. 
An  experience,  in  other  words,  is  not  debarred  from  being 
image  or  percept  because  it  is  a  general  notion;  rather,  as 
a  general  notion,  it   is   also   sensation,  affection,  relational 
element,  image  or  percept.     Its   generality  or  conceptual 
quality  consists,  indeed,  merely  in  the  addition  of  the  '  feel- 
ing of  generality  '  to  some  element  or  combination.     We 
have,  therefore,  particular  experiences,  described  as  'the 
pink  of  the  apple  blossoms  in  this  water  color,'  or  as  'your 

1  "  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,"  Bk.  IV.,  Chapter  VII.,  §§  9 
seq. 

-  "  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge,"  Introduction,  §§  6-20. 


2  24  Classes  of  General  Notion 

desk,'  '  my  memory  of  Edward  Everett  Hale  in  Faneuil 
Hall,'  but  we  have  also  general  sensations  and  images, 
such  as  '  Pompeian  reds,'  '  the  sight  of  your  desk  realized 
as  one  of  many  like  it,'  or  the  general  image  '  orator.' 
(There  are  no  general  emotions,  volitions  or  beliefs,  for 
these,  as  we  shall  find,  are  intensely  particularizing  ex- 
periences.) 

Psychologists  do  not  invariably  teach  that  a  percept,  as 
well  as  an  image,  may  form  the  groundwork  of  the  gen- 
eral notion.  A  percept,  to  be  sure,  because  of  the  nearly 
equal  vividness  of  its  parts,  is  less  likely  to  become  '  abstract,' 
or  partially  attended-to  ;  but  it  is  quite  conceivable  that 
the  shape  or  name  or  use  of  the  perceived  desk,  as  well 
as  of  the  imagined  one,  should  be  attended  to  and  supple- 
mented by  the  feeling  of  generality.  This  is  the  teaching 
of  James  in  the  chapter  already  quoted. 

The  doctrine  that  generalization  excludes  imagination 
and  perception  may  fairly  be  said  to  be  disproved.  Like 
all  persistent  errors,  however,  it  is  based  upon  an  impor- 
tant truth,  the  observation  that  all  general  notions  are 
abstract.  We  are  thus  led  to  discuss  the  nature  of  abstrac- 
tion. As  we  shall  see,  the  subject  would  more  consistently 
be  studied  under  the  head  of  '  attention,'  but  it  is  here  in- 
cluded because  of  its  close  connection  with  generalization. 

Abstraction  is  simply  attention,  with  emphasis  upon  the 
narrowing  aspect  of  it.  The  abstract  notion  is  thus  the 
attended-to  part  of  any  complex  content  of  consciousness. 
It  may  be  of  greater  or  less  extent,  just  as  attention  may 
be  less  or  more  narrowing ;  and  there  may  be  as  many 
abstract  notions  as  there  are  elements  of  consciousness. 
The  determining  consideration  is  simply  this,  that  the 
whole  of  one's  experience  should  not  be  equally  interest- 
ing, but  that  some  part  of  it  should  be  in  a  sense  shut  out, 
unattended-to  and  uninteresting.^ 

This  simple  doctrine,  that  the  abstract  notion  is  merely 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XI. 


Abstraction  225 

any  part  attended-to  of  a  complex  idea,  disposes  of  two 
ordinary  theories  about  it.  'Abstract,'  in  the  first  place, 
is  often  supposed  to  mean  '  unsensational.'  Most  intelli- 
gent persons,  therefore,  if  asked  to  give  examples  of 
abstract  notions,  would  select  some  such  ideas  as  those 
of  'identity,'  'beauty'  or  'virtue,'  under  the  impression 
that  the  consciousness  of  color  or  sound  or  smell  and  the 
like  must  be  ruled  out  of  the  class  of  abstract  notions. 
But  *  blueness,'  '  pleasantness,'  '  four-footedness  '  are  as 
much  abstract,  that  is  partial  experiences,  as  the  sup- 
posedly unsensational  ideas  already  suggested.  Every 
element,  sensational,  attributive  or  relational,  is,  therefore, 
abstract,  and  every  complex  of  elements  short  of  a  com- 
plete percept  or  image  is  also  abstract. 

It  is  even  more  important  to  observe  that  an  abstract 
notion  is  not  necessarily  a  general  notion.  This  conclu- 
sion is  quite  contrary  to  the  ordinary  assumption.  Almost 
everybody,  psychologist  or  layman,  quite  regardless  of  the 
meaning  of  English,  uses  '  abstract '  and  '  general '  as 
synonymous  terms. ^  But  the  truth  is,  that  when  I  am 
conscious  of  '  this  blueness,'  '  the  sweetness  of  this  pear,' 
'the  warmth  of  this  room,'  I  am  abstracting,  that  is,  attend- 
ing to  a  part  only  of  my  total  experience,  yet  I  am  not 
generalizing  because  my  idea  is  of  tJiis  or  tJiat  element, 
not  of  any  siinilar  element. 

But  this  error,  like  others,  is  based  on  a  truth.  Though 
abstraction  does  not  involve  generalization,  so  that  abstract 
notions  are  not  necessarily  general,  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
generalization  does  involve  abstraction,  and  every  general 
notion  is  abstract.     This  is  a  fact  of  common  observation. 

1  Cf.  Hoffding  {op.  cif.,  p.  167)  :  "General  ideas  exist,  therefore,  in  the 
sense  that  we  are  able  to  concentrate  the  attention  on  certain  elements  of  the 
individual  idea."  This  assertion,  inaccurate  as  it  stands,  would  be  perfectly 
correct  if  made  about  the  al)stract  idea.  The  same  confusion  of  abstraction 
with  conception  occurs  in  James's  discussion  of  the  subject,  side  by  side  with 
the  adequate  view  of  the  relation,  expressed  in  the  following  statement  {op. 
cit.,  Vol.  I.,  p.  461),  "Each  act  of  conception  results  from  attention  singling 
out  some  one  part  of  the  mass  of  matter  for  thought  which  the  world  presents." 

Q 


2  26  The  General  Notion  as  Indistinct 

My  percept  of  my  cat  does  not  become  general  so  long  as 
I  am  impartially  conscious  of  all  its  details,  the  yellow  and 
white  markings,  the  shortened  tail,  the  slender  ankles ;  I 
can  generalize  only  by  abstracting  from  these  specific 
features  and  attending  to  shape,  motion  and  furriness. 
This  is  simply  to  say  that  the  feehng  of  generahty,  which 
turns  a  mere  percept  or  image  into  a  general  notion,  attaches 
itself  only  to  abstract,  not  to  complete  and  undifferentiated, 
experiences.  The  relation  between  abstract  and  general, 
therefore,  amounts  to  this :  the  abstract,  that  is  the  at- 
tended-to,  partial  experience,  is  the  larger  class,  including 
both  the  '  particular,'  that  is  the  experience  known  as  'this,' 
and  the  general,  that  is  the  experience  known  as  'any.' 

The  general  notion  is  primarily  the  percept  or  image 
as  supplemented  by  a  feeling  of  generality.  A  secondary 
characteristic  should,  however,  be  noticed.  The  general 
notion  is  distinguished,  also,  by  a  certain  indistinctness  and 
lack  of  intensity.  Compared  with  the  percept  of  a  figure 
or  scene,  or  even  with  an  ungeneralized  image,  it  is,  as  Hux- 
ley says,^  like  '  a  figure  seen  in  twilight '  or  like  '  the  pic- 
tures thrown  by  a  badly  focussed  magic  lantern.'  This 
indistinctness  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  fact,  just  estab- 
lished, that  the  feeling  of  generality  attaches  to  an  abstract 
or  attended-to  experience,  for  an  idea  which  is  attended-to, 
or  abstract,  may  yet,  as  has  been  shown,  be  sensationally 
indistinct.^  A  slight  consideration  of  the  way  in  which  we 
come  by  general  notions  will  explain  their  indistinctness. 
Without  undertaking  in  detail  the  discussion  of  the  source  of 
general  notions,  we  may  say  at  once  that  they  are  due  to  a 
repetition  of  experiences,  which  are  similar  in  some  respects 
and  different  in  others.  I  have  not  the  general  notion  'cat,' 
until  I  have  seen  several  cats,  of  the  same  general  shape  and 
silkiness,  but  widely  different  in  size  and  color ;  and  I  have 
no  general  notion  of  '  athletics,'  until  I  have  seen  or  played 
at  many  sports,  alike  in  being  forms  of  exercise  for  its  own 

^  Hume,  p.  112.  "  Cf.  Chapter  XL,  p.  142. 


The  General  N'otion  as  Indistinct  227 

sake,  but  differing  widely  in  the  bodily  movements  re- 
quired, the  implements  used  and  the  costumes  worn.  From 
this  point  we  may  well  quote  again  from  Huxley's  account 
of  the  matter  :  — 

"  When  several  complex  impressions  which  are  more  or 
less  different  from  one  another  —  let  us  say  that  out  of  ten 
impressions  in  each,  six  are  the  same  in  all,  and  four  are 
different  from  all  the  rest  —  are  successively  presented  to 
the  mind,  it  is  easy  to  see  what  must  be  the  nature  of  the 
result.  The  repetition  of  the  six  similar  impressions  will 
strengthen  the  six  corresponding  elements  of  the  complex 
idea,  which  will  therefore  acquire  greater  vividness ;  while 
the  four  differing  impressions  of  each  will  not  only  acquire 
no  greater  strength  than  they  had  at  first,  but,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  law  of  association,  they  will  all  tend  to 
appear  at  once,  and  thus  will  neutralize  one  another. 

"This  mental  operation  may  be  rendered  comprehensible 
by  considering  what  takes  place  in  the  formation  of  com- 
pound photographs  ;  ...  all  those  points  in  which  the  six 
faces  agree  are  brought  out  strongly,  while  all  those  in 
which  they  differ  are  left  vague  ;  and  thus  what  may  be 
termed  ?i  generic  portrait  of  the  six,  in  contradistinction  to 
a  specific  portrait  of  any  one,  is  produced." 

Most  psychologists  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
concept  or  general  notion  lacks  distinctness.  Ladd  calls 
it  pale,  less  lifelike  and  sketchy ;  Baldwin  speaks  of  its 
vagueness  and  indefiniteness  ;  Klilpc  says  that  "it  lacks 
definite  determination";  and  Wundt's  idiomatic  statement 
is  the  following,  "es  verliert  an  Anschaulichkeit."  The 
tendency  of  associationists,  like  Hume  and  Huxley,  is  to 
treat  this  vagueness  as  the  essential  feature  of  the  gen- 
eral notion.  The  difference  in  degree  of  definiteness  is, 
however,  an  insufficient  ground  of  distinction.  We  have 
many  images,  in  drowsy  revery,  for  example,  which  are 
very  indistinct  but  which  we  never  call  general. 

Another  frequent,  but  not  invariable,  characteristic  of 
the  general  notion  we  may  call  its  compositeness,  if  we  use 


2  28  The  General  Notion  as  Composite 

this  term  to  indicate  the  fact,  that  a  general  notion  very 
often  includes  within  itself  several  similar  elements  or  com- 
binations to  which,  taken  together,  the  generality-feeling 
attaches.  My  general  notion  'dog,'  may  be,  for  instance, 
the  indistinct  image  of  a  group  of  dogs  of  different  shapes 
and  sizes,  and  my  general  notion  of  '  blue '  is  very  likely 
an  image  of  one  blue  on  a  background  of  several  others. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  this  duplication  is  necessary, 
that  if,  for  example,  my  consciousness  of  '  rose '  includes 
the  feeling  of  generality,  already  analyzed  into  the  feel- 
ings of  'likeness'  and  'wholeness,'  it  must  include  at  least 
two  rose-images.  For  —  it  might  be  insisted  —  one  thing 
is  always  like  a  second,  and  a  whole  implies  at  least  two 
parts.  Of  course,  this  is  true;  yet  the  feeling  of  'like,' 
though  unquestionably  due  to  the  observation  of  at  least 
two  things,  and  leading  to  the  recognition  of  two  things, 
is  not  identical  with  the  consciousness  of  '  two,'  and 
may  conceivably  be  present  when  one  of  the  ideas  which 
gave  rise  to  it  has  disappeared  from  consciousness.  The 
same  assertion  may  be  made  concerning  the  feeling  of 
'whole.'  The  general  notion,  therefore,  may  be,  but  need 
not  be,  '  composite.' 

This  compositeness  is  closely  related  and  readily  con- 
fused with  the  final  characteristic  of  the  general  notion, 
the  fact  that  it  is  associative  of  similar  ideas.  It  will  be 
observed  that  this  mark  of  the  general  notion,  its  associa- 
tiveness,  is  not  a  constituent  feature  but  a  function  of  it  — 
not  a  part  of  it,  but  a  result  of  it,  as  it  were.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  a  general  notion  does,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  suggest  a  series,  longer  or  shorter,  of  images  of 
objects  said  to  belong  to  a  class.  The  general  image 
'  tool,'  for  example,  suggests  a  panoramic  series  of  axes, 
saws  and  hammers ;  and  the  general  notion  '  rat '  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  rapidly-shifting,  imaged  procession  of  — 

"  Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats, 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  gray  rats,  tawny  rats." 


The  General  Notion  as  Associative        229 

In  this  function  of  associating  a  class  of  similars,  the 
general  notion  is  sharply  contrasted  with  the  ungeneral- 
ized  content  of  consciousness.  My  image  of  one  particular 
volume  of  Montaigne  is  likely  to  associate  an  image  of 
the  odd  little  book-stall,  on  the  Parisian  quay,  where  I 
bought  it,  and  this,  in  turn,  may  be  followed  by  an  image 
of  a  lecture-room  in  the  neighboring  Sorbonne,  and  this 
by  an  image  of  the  Grecian  city  about  which  the  lecturer 
spoke.  The  images,  following  upon  the  initial  image,  may 
thus  be  absolutely  different  from  their  starting-point  and 
from  each  other.  It  is  quite  otherwise  with  the  general 
notion.  This  is,  as  we  know,  an  '  abstract,'  that  is,  it  does 
not  contain  the  special  features  which  make  up  '  my  Mon- 
taigne,' and  it  associates  a  series  of  book-images,  each 
resembling  all  its  predecessors  in  the  possession  of  certain 
common  qualities.  Both  '  particular  '  and  '  general '  no- 
tions are  associative,  but  the  associates  of  a  general  notion 
are  similar  to  each  other  and  are  known  as  a  class  or 
group. 

The  study  of  the  general  notion,  as  associative  of  sim- 
ilars, introduces  very  naturally  a  question  of  detail.  What 
sorts  of  general  notion  are  most  common  t  In  attempting 
to  answer  the  question,  we  must  constantly  bear  in  mind 
that  the  presence  of  what  we  have  called  generahty-feel- 
ing  is  the  one  unfaiUng  test  of  the  general  notion.  For, 
true  as  it  is  that  the  general  notion  is  ordinarily  'blurred' 
or  vague,  and  often  complex,  and  always  associative  of 
similars,  yet  an  image  with  all  these  characteristics  would 
not  be  'general'  if  the  feeling  of  generality  did  not 
occur. 

Two  especially  significant  types  of  general  notion  have 
been  pointed  out  by  psychologists.  The  first  of  these  is 
the  name-idea,  that  is,  the  verbal  image  supplemented  by 
the  feehng  of  generality  and  suggestive  of  a  series  of  simi- 
lar ideas.  There  is  no  doubt  that  every  word  in  a  language, 
exclusive  of  its  proper  nouns  and  its  expletives,  if  it  stands 


230  The  Verbal  General  Notion 

for  anything  at  all,  and  is  not  merely  a  set  of  meaningless 
sounds  or  scrawls,  is  a  general  term  suggestive  of  a  great 
many  ideas  similar  to  each  other,  at  least  in  so  far  as  they 
have  the  same  name.  It  is  easy  to  test  this  assertion.  Let 
any  one  pronounce  to  himself  any  series  of  words,  for 
example,  the  first  three  or  four  of  the  "  ^Eneid."  '  Arma  ' 
will  suggest  an  image-series  including  'sword,'  'helmet,' 
'  spear  ' ;  '  virum  '  readily  associates  an  imaged  procession 
of  Greek  and  Trojan  heroes  ;  '  que  '  vaguely  suggests  con- 
nections of  several  sorts  ;  and  the  word-image  '  cano '  will 
be  followed  by  the  representations  of  various  vocal  activi- 
ties. What  is  true  of  these  words  is  true  of  anv  others ; 
all  words,  in  fact,  may  represent  a  group  of  like  ideas,  that 
is,  may  be  suggestive  of  a  series  of  similar  images.  But 
this,  as  we  have  seen,  would  not  turn  a  verbal  image  into 
a  general  notion,  and  it  is  difficult  to  decide  introspectively, 
in  what  cases  a  given  verbal  image  is  accompanied  by  the 
feeling  of  generality.  Often,  certainly,  the  feeling  is  absent 
even  when  the  word-image  performs  its  function  of  suggest- 
ing similars.  I  may  read  the  word  *  candle,'  for  instance, 
and  it  may  suggest  to  me  a  series  of  tapers  of  different  shapes 
and  sizes,  and  yet  I  may  not  be  conscious  of  any  generality- 
feeling.  In  this  case,  though  the  spoken  or  written  word 
'  candle '  may  be  called  a  '  general  term,'  the  verbal  image 
'  candle '  is  not,  according  to  our  doctrine,  a  '  general 
notion.'  It  is  probable,  in  fact,  that  psychologists  who 
have  laid  most  stress  on  general  name-ideas  have  confused 
these  two,  the  general  term,  a  word  associative  of  similars, 
and  the  verbal  general  notion,  a  verbal  image,  not  only  as- 
sociative of  similars,  but  inclusive  of  a  certain  feeling  of 
generality.  Such  genuine  verbal  concepts,  or  general 
notions,  do  probably  occur  in  our  experience,  though  it  is 
not  easy  to  be  introspectively  certain  about  any  one  of 
them.  For  example,  many  unsensational  general  notions, 
such  as  '  truth,'  '  identity,'  '  tariff,'  probably  consist,  in  part 
at  least,  of  a  verbal  image  accompanied  by  the  generality- 
feeling. 


The  Motor  General  Notion  231 

A  more  important  type  of  general  notion  is  that  which 
contains  the  idea  of  motor  reaction.  Such  an  idea  forms 
a  common  feature  of  many  images,  which  in  other  respects 
are  very  diverse,  and  it  is  naturally,  therefore,  suggestive 
of  long  series  of  similar  ideas.  The  generalized  feature  of 
our  notion  '  chair,'  for  example,  is  not  that  of  material,  of 
color,  or  even  of  form,  because  no  one  of  these  is  common 
to  our  ideas  of  the  innumerable,  widely  different  objects 
known  as  chairs.  Between  the  Westminster  Abbey  coro- 
nation chair  and  the  unsteady  support  provided  at  parlor 
lectures,  there  is  in  fact  little  in  common  except  the 
characteristic  motor  reaction  called  forth  by  each.  The 
chair  is  thus  the  '  to-be-sat-down-on,'  and  this  imaged  bodily 
reaction  is  probably  the  part  of  my  image  '  chair '  which  is 
accompaniedby  the  feeling  of  generality  and  followed  by 
the  series  of  images  —  of  throne,  stuffed  arm-chair,  rush  chair 
and  milkmaid's  stool  —  very  different  objects,  similar  in  this 
one  respect,  that  they  are  things  to  be  sat  down  on.  In 
the  same  way,  foods  differ  in  every  conceivable  particular 
of  color,  form  and  consistency,  but  agree  in  calling  forth  a 
common  system  of  bodily  movements.  The  generalized 
feature  of  the  general  notion,  food,  is  thus  the  image  of  it 
as  the  *  to-be-eaten.'  In  the  same  way,  the  pen  is  the 
'  to-be-written-with,'  the  flower  is  the  '  to-be-smelled  '  or 
'to-be-picked,'   the  hat  is  the  *  to-be-put-on-one's-head.' 

An  interesting  proof  that  the  idea  of  our  motor  reactions 
is  a  significant  feature  of  the  general  notion  is  found  in  the 
fact  that  we  commonly  suppose  ourselves  not  to  *  know ' 
objects,  that  is,  to  be  incapable  of  generalizing  and  classi- 
fying them,  when  we  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  them, 
in  other  words,  when  they  involve  no  imaged  motor  reac- 
tion. Somebody  shows  me  an  oddly  shaped  stone  and  I 
exclaim,  "  I  don't  know  what  it  is."  But  all  the  time  I  am 
perfectly  aware  that  it  is  irregular  in  shape,  gray  in  color, 
cold  to  the  touch.  I  know  many  things  about  it,  but  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  I,  therefore,  have  no 
general  notion  of  it  until  some  one  tells  me  that  it  is  a  pre- 


232  The  Motor  General  Notion 

historic  battle-axe.  At  once,  the  image  of  attacking  move- 
ments becomes  part  of  my  consciousness  of  the  bit  of  stone, 
and  is  accompanied  by  a  feehng  of  generaHty  and  followed 
by  a  series  of  imaged  weapons,  very  different  in  most  re- 
spects from  this  bit  of  stone,  yet  similar  to  it  because  includ- 
ing the  notion  of  movements  of  attack.  Such  a  general 
notion  is,  in  the  words  of  Professor  Royce,  '  an  idea  of  the 
way  to  do  that.'  Careful  consideration  of  the  actual  mean- 
ing of  most  of  our  general  notions  of  concrete  objects  will 
show  that  they  are  of  this  type.  The  concrete  thing  means 
to  us  what  we  do  with  it,  and  our  general  notion  of  it  is 
an  image  of  our  reaction  to  it,  supplemented  by  the  feeling 
of  generality,  and  actually  followed,  as  is  later  discovered, 
by  a  series  of  similar  ideas. 

It  is  not,  however,  true,  as  some  psychologists  imply,^ 
that  this  is  the  only  type  of  general  notion.  The  idea  of 
motor  reaction  surely  forms  no  distinguishing  part  of  our 
unsensational,  general  notions.  No  common  motor  reac- 
tion, for  example,  characterizes  all  forms  of  '  cause'  or  of 
*  science.'  The  consideration  of  these  two  historically 
important  forms  of  general  notion  brings  us,  in  fact,  to  the 
conclusion  that  there  is  no  element  or  complex  of  con- 
sciousness, sensational,  attributive  or  relational,  verbal  or 
concrete,  which  may  not  be  attended  by  the  feeling  of 
generality,  and  which  may  not  become,  by  virtue  of  this 
accompaniment,  a  general  notion.  In  the  general  notion  of  a 
concrete  percept,  this  generality-feeling  often  indeed  supple- 
ments the  idea  of  a  common  motor  reaction ;  in  an  elemental 
general  notion,  such  as  redness,  it  may  either  be  directly 
attached  to  the  element,  or  to  the  verbal  image,  'redness'; 
in  an  affective  concept,  it  is  probably  combined,  not  merely 
with  a  verbal  image,  but  with  a  weak  throb  of  the  affection 
itself.  In  all  forms  of  concept,  the  perceptual  or  image 
experience  is  usually  vague,  and  is  followed  by  a  series  of 
similar  images.     The  similarity  of  these  images  consists  in 

1  Cf.  Baldwin,  cp.  cit.,  pp.  325  scq.,  and  Royce,  as  quoted  by  Baldwin. 


The  'Function''   Theory  22,'^ 

their  common  possession  of  the  generalized  feature,  motor 
idea,  sense-element  or  affection. 

The  relational  experience  of  generality,  which  alone  dis- 
tinguishes the  general  notion  from  the  elements  and  ideas 
already  discussed,  has,  of  course,  no  regular  physical  stim- 
ulus. Our  incomplete  knowledge  of  cerebral  conditions 
forbids,  also,  the  attempt  to  describe  exactly  its  intra- 
cortical  excitation.  In  general,  we  may  say  that  the  feeling 
of  generality  is  conditioned  by  the  activity  of  connecting 
fibres  and  probably  also  of  cells  in  the  '  association- 
centres.' 

There  is  another  theory  of  the  general  notion,  so  consis- 
tent and  so  plausible  that  it  must  be  briefly  outhned.  It 
is  virtually  the  doctrine  of  the  scholastic  nominalists  and 
of  English  associationists,  but  the  clearest  statement  of 
it,  known  to  the  writer,  is  that  of  Dr.  Dickinson  Miller.^ 
According  to  this  theory,  the  '  generality '  of  an  experience 
consists  simply  in  the  fact,  so  often  noticed,  that  it  asso- 
ciates similar  images.  In  other  words,  this  theory  denies 
the  existence  of  any  '  feeling  of  generality,'  and  holds  that 
generality  is  not  a  constituent  of  the  particular  content  of 
consciousness,  but  a  function  of  it.  As  immediately  ex- 
perienced, the  general  notion  is  not,  on  this  view,  different 
from  any  other,  but  it  proves  to  have  suggested  similar 
images,  instead  of  diverse  ones,  and  it  is  called  '  general ' 
therefore,  not  for  what  it  is,  but  for  what  it  does. 

The  positive  part  of  this  doctrine  is,  of  course,  indisputa- 
ble. General  notions  are,  as  we  have  over  and  over  again 
discovered,  suggestive  of  similar  ideas.  The  negative 
teaching,  that  the  general  notion  is  distinct  in  function 
only,  and  that  it  has  no  peculiar  consciousness  character- 
istic of  it,  contradicts,  in  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  the 
plain  witness  of  introspection  to  a  distinct  feeling  of 
generality. 

1  Psychological  Rcvieiv,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  537  seq. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THOUGHT:    JUDGMENT   AND   REASONING 
b.     THE    SIMPLE   JUDGMENT 

Like  conception  or  generalization,yjudgment  is  a  com- 
plex consciousness  distinguished  by  the  presence  of  an 
untemporal,  relational  experience,  the  feehng  of  wholeness. 
This  consciousness  of  '  whole '  is  accompanied  by  a  dis- 
crimination of  parts  within  a  whole.  Judging  is,  there- 
fore, the  shared  consciousness  of  a  whole,  with  especial 
attention  to  one  or  more  of  its  parts ;  and  'a  judgment'  is 
a  complex  of  elements  of  consciousness,  containing  one  or 
more  emphasized  parts,  and  yet  realized  as  a  whole.  A 
judgment,  like  a  general  notion,  is,  therefore,  a  percept  or 
image  plus  a  relational  experience,  in  this  case,  the  feeling 
of  wholeness.  It  is,  of  course,  useless  to  attempt  a  close 
description  of  the  cerebral  conditions  of  judgments  Exci- 
tation of  connecting  fibres  and  of  cells  in  *  association- 
centres  '  probably,  however,  occurs. 

Let  us  first  try  to  make  clear  to  ourselves  the  shifting 
distinction  between  the  judgment  and  the  mere  percept 
or  image.  I  look  off  at  a  gray  church  spire,  half  a  mile 
below  me,  and  have  a  consciousness  of  grayness,  form, 
roughness,  oneness  and  limitedness.  I  do  not  reflect  upon 
this  experience  nor  analyze  it ;  and  no  one  part  of  it — gray- 
ness or  tapering  height  —  impresses  me  more  than  another. 
So  far,  then,  this  experience  is  a  mere  percept.  But  now, 
for  some  reason,  the  grayness  of  the  spire  draws  my  atten- 
tion ;  I  lay  little  stress  on  its  form,  but  I  am  interested  in 
its  color,  —  in  other  words,  I  have  an  '  abstract  notion  '  of 

234 


The  Nature  of  the  Judgment  235 

the  color.     Finally,  however,  I  am  conscious  of  the  gray- 
ness  as  a  part  of  the  spire,  as  belonging  to  it,  as  forming 
with  its  shape  and  other  features  one  whole ;  and  now  for 
the  first  time  I  am  judging,  conscious  of  a  complex  as  a 
whole   inclusive  of  an  emphasized  part.  /Perception  and 
judgment  alike  are  distinguished,  first,  from  the  abstract 
notion  by  their  complexity,   and   second,    from   the   total 
sensational  complex  by  their  limitedness.     But  judgment 
is  distinguished  from  perception  by  the  added  feeling  of 
wholeness,  and  by  the  invariable  emphasis  of  some  part 
within  its  totaiy  The  three  sorts  of  experience,  percept, 
abstract  notion,  judgment,  may  be  represented  in  words, 
by  the   expressions  'gray  spire,'  'grayness,'  '  the  spire  is 
gray.'     The    propositional  form  of  the  last  clause    is   an 
indication  of  both  aspects  of  the  judgment,  the  feeHng  of 
wholeness  and  the  attention  to  one  part, 
-^'tliere  are  two  basal  types  of  judgment:    we  shall  call 
them  '  analytic  '  and  '  synthetic'     They  differ  in  the  manner 
of  their  formation,  not  in  their  essential  nature ;  that  is  to 
say,  they  are  distinguished   genetically,   not  analyticall 
Our  church  spire  example  is  an  illustration  of  the  analytic 
judgment,  which  is  formed  by  the  persisting  vividness  of 
one    part   of   any  complex   experience,   supplemented,  of 
course,  by  the  feeling  of  its  connection  with  the  other  parts 
in  a  '  whole.'     Any  object  or  scene  which  is  thought  of  as 
a  whole  of  discriminated  parts  is,  therefore,  a  judgment; 
and  it  is  probably  true,  that  most  of  the  undifferentiated 
percepts  and  images  of  a  child's  consciousness  are  later 
replaced   by  analytic   judgments.     'The  birch  leaves  are 
yellow,'  'the  whale  is  a  mammal,'  'Europe  includes  Ger- 
many,' are    propositions   which    represent   these    analytic 
judgments  (unless,  indeed,  they  stand  for  mere  percepts, 
and  mean  no  more  than  the  expressions  'yellow  leaves,' 
'mammalian  whale,'   'European    Germany').     From   Pro- 
fessor Titchener,^  we  may  quote  several  examples  of  these 


1  'i 


Outline  of  Psychology,"  §  54. 


236  Analytic  Jtidgments 

analytic  judgments,  and  the  way  in  which  they  are  formed. 
"The  best   ilkistration,"  he  says,  "is   the  connection   of 
auditory  ideas  in  the  sentence.     The  whole  '  thought,'  i.e. 
complex  of  ideas,  which  the  sentence  expresses  must  form 
part   of   our    consciousness,  however  vaguely,   before  we 
begin  to  speak,  otherwise  we  could  not  carry  the  sentence 
to  its  conclusion  without  hesitation  and  mistake."     "Sup- 
pose," he  continues,  "that  I  say  to  myself:  'That  chord 
contains  the  notes  C,  E,  G.'     The  chord  is  given  as  a  total 
impression ;    it  is  a  complex  of    simultaneously  sounding 
tones.     But  the  attention  fixes  for  some  reason  upon  one 
of  the  constituent  tone-complexes,  the  note   C.     This  is 
rendered  prominent  and  distinct,  while  the  remaining  con- 
stituents are  blurred  and  weakened.     The  impression  is 
thus  split  up,  its  components  dissociated.     The  attention 
soon  relaxes  from  its  first  object,  and  the  other  two  notes 
receive,  in  turn,  their  share  of  notice.     The  whole  complex 
is  thus  reviewed,  part  by  part,  and  put  together  again  in 
the  sentence  :  '  It  contained  the  notes  C,  E,  G.'  " 

It  should  be  added  that  Titchener  replaces  our  term  '  ana- 
lytic judgment '  by  the  expression  'association  after  disjunc- 
tion,' and  that  he  makes  no  mention  at  all  of  the  class  of 
synthetic  judgments.  A  more  serious  difference  is  his 
neglect  of  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  judgment,  its 
'feeling  of  wholeness.'  It  is  noteworthy,  however,  that 
he  suggests  the  wholeness-feeling  by  the  observation  that 
the  judgment  has  the  'character  of  completeness  or  final- 
ity.' This  definition  of  judgment  as  association  overlooks 
the  fact,  already  emphasized,^  that  association  is  an  objec- 
tive synthesis  of  ideas,  that  is,  a  connection  on  which  one 
later  reflects,  not  a  unity  of  which  one  is  immediately  con- 
scious. But  judgment  and  reasoning  are  characterized  by 
precisely  this  immediate  consciousness  of  unity.  Associa- 
tion, or  the  after  reflection  on  connection,  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  identical  with  judgment,  or  the  intimate  feehng  of 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XIII.,  p.  157. 


Abstract  and  Concrete  Judgments  237 

wholeness  ;  and,  indeed,  association  may  occur  when  judg- 
ment, in  this  sense,  is  absent.  For  example,  the  ideas 
whose  combination  is  indicated  by  the  proposition  '  heat  is 
a  form  of  motion  '  may  be  merely  associated,  that  is,  they 
may  be  later  observed  to  be  connected ;  but  such  associa- 
tion is  utterly  different  from  the  immediate  feeUng  of 
wholeness  which  distinguishes  the  judgment. 
-Within  the  class  of  analytic  judgments,  we  may  further 
distinguish  the  abstract  from  the  concrete;^  It  will  be  no- 
ticed that  the  third  of  our  illustrations,  at  the  end  of  page 
235,  is  different  from  the  others,  in  the  completeness  and 
independence  of  its  discriminated  part.  That  is  to  say,  the 
image  of  '  Germany '  may  occur  without  that  of  '  Europe,' 
whereas  the  consciousness  of  '  yellow  '  always  forms  a  part 
of  another  complete  whole  —  of  'leaf  or  'wall'  or  'gown'; 
and  in  the  same  way  the  idea  '  mammal,'  though  more  com- 
plex than  the  sensation  '  yellow,'  is  present  to  conscious- 
ness only  as  constituent  of  some  larger  idea,  as  'whale'  or 
'  cow  '  or  '  human  being.'  Judgments,  in  which  the  discrim- 
inated feature  occurs  only  as  part  of  a  larger  content,  are 
called  'abstract';  judgments  in  which  the  discriminated 
parts  are  conceivably  independent  are  named  *  concrete.' 

Contrasted  with  the  whole  class  of  analytic  judgments, 
whether  abstract  or  concrete,  is  the  second  fundamental  class, 
that  of  synthetic  judgments.  This  type  of  judgments  may 
be  illustrated  in  the  most  diverse  ways.  '  Napoleon  burnt 
Moscow,'  '  Browning  played  the  organ,'  are  clear  examples 
of  it ;  '  platinum  is  ductile,'  or  '  some  water-lilies  are  pink,' 
are  less  obvious  instances.  The  distinction  is  the  following  : 
an  analytic  judgment  is  formed,  as  we  have  seen,  by  the 
emphasis  of  part  of  an  undifferentiated,  though  Hmited, 
complex ;  it  therefore  involves  nothing  new  except  the 
feeling  of  wholeness.  A  synthetic  judgment,  on  the  other 
hand,  arises  by  the  association  of  new  facts  of  conscious- 
ness to  the  fact  already  present ;  and  old  and  new  are  then 
regarded  as  parts  of  a  whole.  In  other  words,  a  percept 
or  image,  gained  by  the  association  of  one  fact  of  conscious- 


238  Synthetic  Jiidgments 

ness  with  another,  is  supplemented  by  a  feehng  of  whole- 
ness, and  forms,  thus,  a  synthetic  judgment.  The  synthetic 
judgment  is,  therefore,  a  judgment  of  discovery.  It  differs 
from  the  analytic  judgment  only  in  the  manner  of  forma- 
tion, not  in  nature,  for,  in  both  cases,  the  judgment  is  con- 
stituted by  the  included  'feehng  of  wholeness.' 
^■"T^e  synthetic  judgment,  also,  has  the  two  classes,  *  ab- 
stract'  and  '  concrete.'  There  is,  however,  no  way  of  indi- 
cating by  words  the  difference  between  an  analytic  and  a 
synthetic,  abstract  judgment,,^ To  recur  to  one  of  our  ex- 
amples :  'platinum  is  ductile'  is  a  synthetic  judgment 
only  to  the  person  whose  concept  of  platinum  does  not 
already  include  the  idea  of  ductility.  In  this  case,  the  idea 
of  ductility  is  added  to  one's  initial  image  of  a  light,  silvery 
metal,  to  form  one  complete  total-image  of  platinum  as  a 
light,  silvery,  ductile  metal.  Only  introspection  can  decide, 
in  any  special  case,  whether  an  abstract  judgment  is  analytic 
or  synthetic. 

The  terms  '  analytic  '  and  '  synthetic  '  are  Kant's,  and  his 
use  of  them,  from  the  standpoint  of  psychology,  is  sim- 
ilar to  ours.  It  should  be  observed  that  the  expressions 
cannot  be  replaced  by  the  words  '  discriminative  '  and  '  asso- 
ciative,' since  even  in  an  analytic  judgment  there  is  associ- 
ation, that  of  discriminated  part  with  whole,  and  even  in 
asynthetic  judgment  there  is  discrimination,  that  of  the  rel- 
atively independent  part  in  a  whole.  For  illustration  of  the 
use  of  the  term  '  abstract,'  in  the  sense  '  incomplete '  and 
in  contrast  with  'concrete,'  that  is,  'relatively  complete'  or 
'sel^sufficient,'  we  may  refer  to  certain  statements  of  James. ^ 
^t  should  be  added  that  a  judgment  may  conceivably 
include  more  than  one  emphasized  part.  Since,  however, 
our  attention  is  very  hmited,  it  is  probable  that  the  greater 
number  of  judgments  include,  psychologically  as  well  as 
logically,  but  a  single  predicate^^^he  experience,  for 
instance,   expressed  by   the   sentence,   '  McKinley    stands 

^  Cf.  especially  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  337. 


Propositions  239 

for  imperialism  and  sound  money,'  though  expressed  in 
a  single  proposition,  is,  for  most  of  us,  two  judgments,  in 
which  the  feeling  of  wholeness  attaches  successively  to  the 
complexes  '  McKinley  —  sound  money,'  and,  '  McKinley  — 
imperialism.'  This  suggests  once  more  the  important 
truth  that  the  proposition  is  a  mere  form  of  words,  subject 
and  predicate,  and  that  it  may  as  well  express  a  series 
of  associated  images  as  a  judgment.  When  the  French 
soldiers  and  Napoleon  first  realized  that  'the  Russians 
burned  Moscow,'  the  experience  probably  was  a  judg- 
ment, that  is  to  say,  the  feeling  of  the  event  as  a  whole 
of  distinguished  parts  was  presumably  present  to  them. 
But  the  words,  as  we  repeat  them,  may  stand  to  us  for  a 
mere  succession  of  images,  verbal  or  concrete. 

An  important  instance  of  a  proposition  which  does  not 
express  a  judgment  is  the  so-called  negative  judgment, 
"  No  cats  are  two-legged,"  or,  "  No  Frenchmen  are  Teu- 
tons." These  are  negative  propositions,  but  the  expe- 
riences for  which  they  stand  involve  the  relational  feeling 
of  exclusion,  not  the  feeling  of  wholeness ;  psychologically, 
therefore,  they  are  quite  distinct  from  judgments.  I^ut 
though  a  negative  proposition  does  not  express  a  judg- 
ment, it  undoubtedly  implies  a  judgment.  One  must  have 
the  consciousness  of  a  whole  before  one  can  think  of  any- 
thing as  excluded  from  that  whole,  and  the  negative  propo- 
sition is  essentially,  as  we  have  seen,  the  assertion  of  a 
feeling  of  exclusion. 

We  must  notice,  in  conclusion/that  many  psychologists 
regard  judgment  as  identical  with  belief.  This  belief- 
theory  is  first  found  in  Aristotle's  observation  that  only 
propositions,  never  mere  terms,  can  be  true  or  falsey  In 
modern  times,  Brentano^  coordinates  judgment  witn  will 
and  perceiving,  as  fundamental  activities  of  conscious- 
ness; and  Stout  adopts  the  same  view,^  defining  judgment 
as  the  'yes  —  no'  experience,  and  treating  it  as  a  distinct 

1  "  Psychologic,"  Chajiter  VII. 

2  "Analytic  Psychology,"  Vol.  I,,  pp.  97,  99, 


240  Judgment  and  Belief 

attitude  of  consciousness.  Traces  of  this  doctrine  are 
found  in  many  other  modern  discussions  of  judgment. 
The  theory  is  really  founded  on  a  confusion  of  judgment 
with  proposition.  For  the  proposition-form  of  words  is 
often  used  to  express,  not  a  judgment,  but  a  belief,  as  in 
the  asseveration,  'This  music  is  wretched.'  /But  a  judg- 
ment, a  conscious  experience,  is  not  identical  with  a  propo- 
sition, a  form  of  words;  and  this  use  of  the  term  'judg- 
ment,' as  synonym  for  the  unobjectionable  word  '  belief,' 
leaves  unnamed  the  characteristic  experience  of  whole- 
ness,./^t  seems  wisest,  therefore,  to  content  ourselves  with 
one  name  for  'behef,'  and  thus  to  leave  the  term  judgment 
as  name  for  the  consciousness  of  a  whole. 

C.       REASONING 

fudging  is  best  known  in  the  form  of  reasoning.  We 
seldom  reflect  upon  the  single  judgment,  the  mere  con- 
sciousness of  discriminated  wholeness  in  our  immediate 
perception  and  imagination,  but  we  notice  the  continuous 
judging  which  we  call  reasoning.  A  reasoning,  or  a 
demonstration,  is  a  succession  of  judgments,  so  related 
that  the  ideas  combined,  in  the  realized  whole  of  the  final 
judgment  (or  conclusion),  have  already  been  combined,  in 
the  preceding  judgments,  with  another  idea  or  with  several 
others,  which  do  not  form  an  emphasized  part  of  the  con- 
clusion V"  We  may  illustrate  this  definition  by  any  instance 
of  reasoning.  Suppose,  for  example,  a  succession  of 
experiences,  describable  by  the  following  propositions  :  — 

This  drawer  will  not  open. 

This  drawer  which  will  not  open  has  a  loose  handle. 

The  looseness  of  the  handle  lessens  the  force  of  my  pull. 

A  lessened  pull  keeps  the  drawer  from  opening. 

Here,  the  first  judgment  is  the  consciousness  of  the 
drawer  as  a  whole,  with  emphasis  on  the  fact  that  it  will 
not  open.     The  second  judgment  follows  upon  the  accent- 


The  Nature  of  Reasoning  241 

uation  of  still  another  feature  of  the  experience,  the 
loosened  handle,  and  consists  in  the  consciousness  of  the 
drawer,  a  realized  whole,  with  this  part  of  it  especially 
vivid.  In  the  third  judgment,  most  parts  of  the  drawer- 
percept  are  unattended  to,  but  the  consciousness  of  the 
loosened  handle  is  very  vivid,  and  is  supplemented  by  a 
new  idea,  the  consciousness  of  a  diminished  pull,  with 
which  it  forms  a  conscious  whole.  Finally,  in  the  conclu- 
sion, the  idea  of  the  handle  loses  its  vividness  or  even  fades 
away  utterly,  but  the  two  ideas  successively  connected 
with  it,  (i)  that  of  the  sticking  drawer  and  (2)  that  of  the 
weakened  pull,  are  vivid  and  are  realized  as  discriminated 
parts  of  a  whole.  Thus,  the  concluding  judgment  is  the 
realized  connection  of  the  terms  of  two  preceding  judg- 
ments ;  each  of  these  terms  was  previously  connected  with 
a  third  term,  now  unemphasized  ;  and  the  whole  experience 
is  properly  called  reasoning  or  '  mediate  judgment.' 
•Reasoning,  it  must  be  observed,  may  consist  of  all  types 
of  judgment  in  all  sorts  of  combinations.  The  judgments 
which  it  includes  may  be  analytic  or  synthetic,  abstract  or 
concrete^^^  In  our  example,  for  instance,  the  first  and 
second  and  fourth  are  analytic  judgments,  due  to  the  em- 
phasis of  ideas  already  present,  but  the  third  is,  or  may  be, 
synthetic,  that  is  to  say,  the  consciousness  of  my  pull  may 
have  been  added,  instead  of  being  present  from  the  be- 
ginning. The  following  argument,  on  the  other  hand, 
probably  consists  throughout  of  '  analytic '  judgments,  in 
other  words,  the  conclusion  is  gained  by  mere  reflection  on 
the  judgment  with  which  we  start,  and  includes  no  abso- 
lutely new  features  :  —  ' 

These  boots  are  very  heavy. 
Very  heavy  boots  are  durable. 
These  boots  are  durable. 

Here  the  idea  of  durability  is  probably  present  through- 
out, though  it  does  not  become  vivid  until  after  the  idea  of 
the  heavy  material  has  been  emphasized. 


242  Synthetic  Reasoning 

This  last  illustration  is  an  ihstance,  also,  of  abstract 
reasoning,  that  is  to  say,  the  emphasized  parts  of  the  suc- 
cessive judgments,  heaviness  and  durability,  are  qualities 
of  objects  and  not  regarded  singly,  or  by  themselves.  But 
many  examples  of  reasoning  have  to  do  with  perfectly 
concrete  experiences.  The  following  example  illustrates 
this  concrete  reasoning  :  — 

The  Athenians  claimed  jurisdiction  over  Delos, 

Delos  contained  the  treasure  of  the  allies. 

The  Athenians  claimed  jurisdiction  over  the  treasure. 

In  this  succession  of  judgments,  there  are  evidently  no 
abstract  terms  except  the  ideas  of  'claiming  jurisdiction' 
and  of  '  containing  ' ;  the  other  ideas  —  of  '  Delos  '  and 
'treasure'  —  are  concretes,  added  successively  and  form- 
ing part  of  the  final  whole,  'Athenians  —  claiming  juris- 
diction over  —  treasure  —  in  —  Delos.' 

It  has  thus  been  shown  by  our  illustrations,  that  what  we 
know  as  reasoning  is,  indeed,  mediate  judging,  that  is,  a 
consciousness  of  the  wholeness  of  discriminated  experi- 
ences, previously  connected  with  one  or  more  '  suppressed  ' 
ideas.  We  have  made  clear  to  ourselves,  also,  that  the 
connected  judgments  may  be  of  any  type.  In  spite  of  all 
this  variety,  however,  only  two  forms  of  reasoning  need  be 
specially  considered.  These  are  first,  '  purely  synthetic 
reasoning,'  in  which  every  judgment  is  gained  by  the 
association  of  a  new  idea  to  the  unanalyzed  idea  with 
which  one  starts.  It  is  hard  to  give  a  plausible  example, 
for  effective  reasoning  is  never  of  this  type.  A  random 
instance  is,  however,  the  following  :  — 

Stephen  Phillips  wrote  '  Herod.' 

'  Herod  '  was  published  by  John  Lane. 

Stephen  Phillips's  publisher  is  John  Lane. 

It  is  obvious  that  such  reasoning  seldom,  if  ever,  occurs, 
and  that  it  is  useless  at  the  best;  one  would  be  likely,  for 


Analytic  Reasoning  243 

example,  to  think  of  the  pubHsher  without  the  intermediate 
idea  of  the  book  ;  and  such  immediate  association  would  be 
better,  if  only  because  swifter,  than  the  mediate  reasoning 
process,  which  requires  at  least  three  such  associations. 
If  there  were,  in  fact,  no  type  of  reasoning  except  the 
'  purely  synthetic,'  comj^osed  by  association  without  analy- 
sis, then  reasoning  would  be  nothing  less  than  a  peculiarly 
toilsome  way  of  attaining  results,  which  might  be  reached 
at  a  bound,  by  immediate  association. 

There  is,  however,  a  second  form  of  reasoning,  the 
analytic,  of  so  much  greater  significance,  that  psychol- 
ogists usually  treat  of  it  to  the  exclusion  of  synthetic 
reasoning.^  It  consists  of  the  following  order  of  judg- 
ments :  there  is,  first,  an  analytic  judgment,  in  which 
some  one  feature  of  an  idea  is  singled  out  and  brought  to 
the  foreground  of  attention ;  second,  a  synthetic  or  supple- 
menting judgment,  which  adds  a  previously  unthought-of 
idea  to  the  emphasized  part  of  the  first  judgment;  and 
then,  finally,  the  combination  of  the  initial,  originally  un- 
analyzed  idea  with  this  new  feature.  An  analytic  judgment 
may  thus  be  defined,  in  the  words  which  James  applies  to 
judgment  in  general,  as  '  the  substitution  of  parts  and  their 
implications  or  consequences,  for  wholes.'  One  concerns 
oneself,  for  example,  with  the  question  of  Porto  Rican  tax- 
ation. One's  idea  of  Porto  Rico  is  highly  complex  and 
very  vague ;  it  includes  visual  images  of  tropical  scenes 
and  images,  largely  verbal,  of  economic  conditions.  If  any 
conclusion  is  to  be  reached,  it  must  be,  therefore,  by  the 
emphasis  of  some  one  feature  of  the  complex  idea,  Porto 
Rico  —  its  connection,  let  us  say,  with  the  United  States. 
"  Porto  Rico,"  one  observes,  "is  a  United  States  territory." 
At  once,  this  simpler  idea,  '  United  States  territory,'  sug- 
gests, what  the  more  complex  one  had  failed  to  do,  the  idea 
of  exemption  from  import  duty  on  United  States  prod- 
ucts; and,  finally,  this  idea  of  exemption  is  added  to  the 

1  Cf.  James,  o/.  cit. ;  Titchener,  o/>.  cit. 


244  Analytic  Reasoning 

idea  of  Porto  Rico,  with  which  one  started,  and  is  realized 
as  forming  with  it  a  whole.  So  one  has,  as  expression  of 
this  reasoning,  the  syllogism  :  — 

Porto  Rico  is  a  territory  of  the  United  States. 

Territories  of  the  United  States  should  be  exempt  from 

import  duty  on  United  States  products. 
Porto  Rico  should  be  exempt  from  import  duty. 

The  peculiar  value  of  reasoning  is  thus,  as  James  has 
said,  its  ability  to  '  deal  with  novel  data '  and  to  discover 
the  functions  and  possibilities  of  new  situations  and  objects. 
It  attains  this  end  by  means  of  the  analysis  involved  in 
its  first  judgment.  For  this  judgment,  since  it  is  analytic, 
emphasizes  a  quaUty  or  an  attribute  within  a  whole  object 
or  situation  ;  and,  because  this  discriminated  part  is  less 
complex  than  the  total  in  which  it  belongs,  it  has  fewer 
possible  consequences ;  and,  because  it  has  certain  definite 
consequences,  it  is  hkelier  than  a  more  complex  experience 
to  form  the  nucleus  of  a  second  judgment.  When,  for 
example,  I  judge  that  a  certain  mosslike  substance  is 
'animal,'  not  'vegetable,'  that  is,  when  I  emphasize  its 
animality  as  contrasted  with  its  other  features,  I  readily 
reach  conclusions  about  it,  impossible  by  mere  observation 
of  it  as  a  whole.  '  Animal '  at  once  suggests  to  me  all  the 
properties,  irritability,  motivity  and  sensitivity,  which  dis- 
tinguish animal  life.  So,  if  I  analyze  my  neighbor's  atti- 
tude and  judge  that  his  reserve  includes  deep  shyness,  I 
may  correctly  infer  the  further  consequences  of  this  as  yet 
unsuspected  characteristic.  All  this  is  clearly  taught  by 
James.i  "  Whereas  the  merely  empirical  thinker,"  he  says, 
"stares  at  a  fact  in  its  entirety  and  remains  helpless  or 
gets  '  stuck '  if  it  suggests  no  concomitant  or  similar,  the 
analytic  reasoner  breaks  it  up  and  notices  some  one  of  its 
separate  attributes.  This  attribute  he  takes  to  be  the 
essential  part  of  the  whole  fact  before  him.     This  attribute 

1  op.  cit.,  p.  330. 


Analytic  Reasoning  245 

has  properties  or  consequences  which  the  fac-t,  until  then, 
was  not  known  to  have,  but  which,  now  that  it  is  noticed  to 
contain  the  attribute  it  must  have.  .  .  .  The  art  of  the  ana- 
lytic reasoner  will  consist  of  two  stages :  first,  sagacity,  or  the 
ability  to  discover  what  part,  M,  lies  embedded  in  the  whole, 
S,  before  him  ;  second,  learning,  or  the  ability  to  recall 
promptly  M's  consequences,  concomitants,  or  implications." 
This  study  of  analytic  reasoning  enables  us  to  under- 
stand why  thinkers  of  all  schools  and  all  ages  have  laid 
such  stress  on  reasoning.  For,  beginning  back  at  least 
with  Aristotle,  who  defined  man  as  a  reasoning  animal, 
reasoning  ability  has  been  assumed  as  a  fundamental  char- 
acter of  effective  thought.  Purely  synthetic  reasoning  does 
not,  as  we  have  seen,  live  up  to  this  reputation,  but  certain 
definite  values  can  be  assigned  to  analytic  reasoning.  It 
is  significant,  in  the  first  place,  because  it  widens  our 
knowledge,  enabling  us  to  reach,  by  means  of  a  judgment 
already  formed,  a  result  which  would  not  have  been  imme- 
diately suggested.  John  Locke  has  well  set  forth  this 
function  of  reasoning.  "When  the  mind,"  he  says,  "can- 
not so  bring  its  ideas  together  as  by  their  immediate  com- 
parison, and  as  it  were  juxtaposition  or  application  one  to 
another,  to  perceive  their  agreement  or  disagreement,  it  is 
fain,  by  the  intervention  of  other  ideas  (one  or  more,  as  it 
happens)  to  discover  the  agreement  or  disagreement  for 
which  it  searches ;  and  this  is  that  which  we  call  reason- 
ing. Thus  the  mind,  being  willing  to  know  the  agreement 
or  disagreement  in  bigness  between  the  three  angles  of  a 
triangle  and  two  right  ones,  cannot  by  an  immediate  view 
and  comparing  them  do  it ;  because  the  three  angles  of  a 
triangle  cannot  be  brought  at  once  and  be  compared  with 
any  one  or  two  angles  ;  and  so  of  this  the  mind  has  no 
immediate,  no  intuitive,  knowledge.  In  this  case  the  mind 
is  fain  to  find  out  some  other  angles,  to  which  the  three 
angles  of  a  triangle  have  an  equality  ;  and  finding  those 
equal  to  two  right  ones,  comes  to  know  their  equality  to 
two  right  ones." 


246  Immediate  Jiidgmcnts 

It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  analytic  reasoning  is 
not  the  only  method,  though  the  usual  one,  of  enabling  us 
to  reach  new  results.  For  it  is  always  possible  that  imme- 
diate judgment  may  replace  even  analytic  reasoning  in  any 
given  case.  One  man  may  gain  by  a  flash  of  intuition 
the  same  result  which  another  attains  only  by  the  closest 
reasoning;  and  the  bare  result  is  as  valuable  in  the  one 
case  as  in  the  other.  There  is  thus  a  kernel  of  truth  in 
the  observation  of  a  modern  character  in  fiction,  "  that  if 
you  reason  a  thing  out,  you're  always  wrong,  and  if  you 
never  reason  about  it  at  all,  you're  always  right."  Few  of 
us  would  admit  this,  yet  it  certainly  is  true  that  one  some- 
times is  wrong  when  one  reasons  and  sometimes  is  right  in 
unreasoned  judgments,  and  that  one  sometimes  reaches, 
without  analysis  and  reasoning,  correct  results  in  compli- 
cated problems.  But  granting  that  the  mediate  method  of 
analytic  reasoning  is  not  the  only  way  of  attaining  the 
adequate  solution,  there  still  remain  several  unassailable 
advantages  with  the  analytic  reasoner.  His  results,  in  the 
first  place,  are  readily  repeated.  Intuitions,  that  is,  imme- 
diate judgments  or  mere  associations,  occur  we  know  not 
how  ;  and  we  cannot  reproduce  them  at  will.  The  result 
which  a  man  has  reached  by  an  unexplained  association, 
once  forgotten,  is  beyond  his  voluntary  control.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  can  repeat  at  will  the  reasoning  founded 
on  close  analysis.  A  student  has  forgotten,  let  us  say, 
the  accusative  singular  of  the  Greek  word,  l\irk.  He 
remembers,  however,  the  reasoning  process  by  which  he 
first  fixed  in  his  mind  the  fact,  that  third  declension  nouns 
in  -i?,  when  accented  on  the  last  S3dlable,  have  the  length- 
ened accusative,  to  avoid  the  abrupt  stop.  Thus  the 
accusative  iXiriSa,  forgotten  in  itself,  is  remembered  as  one 
link  in  a  chain  of  reasoning.  In  the  same  way,  one  can 
repeat  a  geometrical  demonstration,  though  one  has  for- 
gotten it,  by  beginning  with  the  close  analysis  of  the 
figure ;  one  can  recover  the  lost  date,  by  reasoning  from 
one  of  the  facts  associated  with  it,  by  arguing,  for  example. 


Advantages  of  Reasoning  247 

that,  since  crossbows  were  used  in  the  battle,  the  period 
must  antedate  the  discovery  of  gunpowder.  It  behooves, 
therefore,  even  the  person  of  quick  intuition  and  of  ready- 
memory  to  train  his  reasoning  power.  The  flash  of 
inspiration  may  be  more  brilliant,  but  is  surely  far  less 
steady,  than  the  light  of  reason.  The  Aladdin  role  in  the 
mental  life  is  no  sustained  part ;  the  genius  which  appears 
at  one's  first  bidding  may  well  forbear  to  come  at  a  second 
summons.  In  plain  English,  the  power  to  analyze  and  to 
reason  is  relatively  stable,  whereas  unreasoned  association 
is  capricious  and  untrustworthy.  It  is,  therefore,  the  part 
of  wisdom  to  secure  a  reasoned  theology  or  scientific  system 
or  practical  philosophy,  precisely  because  one  thus  has  the 
chance  to  review  and  to  recall  it. 

This  suggests  another  advantage  of  reasoning  over 
immediate  association  :  the  opportunity  which  it  offers  to 
the  candid  person  to  revise  and  to  amend  his  results. 
The  most  dogmatic  and  unyielding  of  individuals  is  the 
man  who  has  jumped  at  his  conclusions.  He  is  naturally 
tenacious  of  them,  because  he  has  no  idea  how  he  came  by 
them  and  no  hope  of  gaining  any  others  if  he  lets  them 
go.  So  the  most  ardent  sectarian  is  the  one  who  doesn't 
know  the  raison  (V itre  of  his  own  sect,  and  the  most  zeal- 
ous political  partisan  can  give  you  no  reason  for  his  vote 
beyond  the  utterance  of  a  talismanic  name  or  symbol. 
It  would  be  too  much,  of  course,  to  claim,  for  the  other 
side,  that  every  reasoning  person  is  open-minded  ;  but  it 
is  quite  fair  to  say  that  only  persons  who  reason  are  open- 
minded.  For  nobody  can  revise  his  decision  who  cannot 
review  it,  and,  as  we.  have  shown,  one  can  only  accept 
without  question  one's  immediate  conclusions,  and  can  only 
review  one's  results  by  retracing  the  steps  of  dehberate 
reasoning. 

The  reasoner  has,  finally,  still  another  unique  advantage. 
He  can  share  his  results  with  other  people.  The  lucky 
man  who  guesses  correctly  may  be  brilliant  and  inspiring, 
but  he  cannot  well  be  convincing.     He  may  be  absolutely 


248  Psychology  and  Logic 

sure  that  one  presidential  candidate  is  far  and  away 
ahead  of  another,  or  that  Thackeray  is  greater  than 
Dickens,  or  that  the  lyric  is  the  highest  form  of  poetic 
art;  he  can  even  temporarily  impose  his  enthusiastic  beliefs 
on  other  people,  but  he  cannot  work  permanent  change  in 
their  convictions.  We  are  constantly  hearing  that  argu- 
ment is  useless,  and  its  futility  in  many  cases  must  be 
admitted ;  yet  it  certainly  is  the  only  method  by  which 
one  can  effectively  share  one's  intellectual  convictions. 

The  student  of  logic  has  noticed,  throughout  the  dis- 
cussion of  judgment  and  reasoning,  the  divergences  of  the 
psychological  from  the  logical  treatment  of  the  subject. 
The  differences  are  inherent  in  the  nature  of  logic  and  of 
psychology.  In  the  first  place,  logic  distinguishes  valid 
from  invaUd  reasoning,  whereas  psychology  has  to  do  with 
the  nature  of  reasoning,  correct  or  incorrect ;  logic,  in  other 
words,  is  a  normative  science,  whereas  psychology  is  an 
analytic  science.  To  the  logician,  for  example,  the  follow- 
ing series  is  no  syllogism  :  — 

Many  Frenchmen  are  fickle. 
Jacques  Bonhomme  is  a  Frenchman. 
Therefore  Jacques  Bonhomme  is  fickle. 

The  logician  points  out  the  fallacy  in  this  argument  and 
excludes  it  from  consideration,  but  the  psychologist  recog- 
nizes it  as  a  genuine  case  of  reasoning  and  mediate  judg- 
ment. From  certain  specific  rules  of  formal  logic,  the 
psychologist  has  also  cut  loose :  the  conventional  require- 
ment, of  exactly  two  terms  in  a  proposition  and  exactly 
three  propositions  in  a  syllogism,  is  an  artificial  abbrevia- 
tion of  the  powers  of  analytic  and  synthetic  judgment, 
and  its  only  justification  is  the  observation  of  the  limited 
range  of  attention. 

A  brief  consideration  of  language  as  related  to  thought 
will   conclude    this    chapter.     The   nature    and   origin  of 


Language  and  Thonght  249 

language  will  later  be  discussed  in  more  detail, ^  but  our 
present  problem  is  urged  upon  us  by  certain  thinkers, 
notably  by  Max  Muller,  who  insist  that  thought  is  im- 
possible without  language,  that  language  and  thought  are, 
in  fact,  two  sides  merely  of  the  same  phenomenon.  Now, 
this  theory  is  certainly  based  on  a  very  ordinary  experi- 
ence. When  we  catch  ourselves  in  the  act  of  reasoning, 
we  do  usually  iind  that  we  are  imagining  sub  silcntio  the 
words  of  our  argument ;  and  in  generalizing,  also,  the 
verbal  image  is  very  apt  to  form  the  centre  of  our  con- 
cepts, so  that,  for  instance,  the  general  notion  '  dog '  is 
apt  to  include  the  verbal  image  'dog.'  But  beyond  this 
assertion  of  the  frequent  occurrence,  in  our  thinking,  of 
verbal  images,  we  have  no  right  to  go.  Language,  as  we 
know,  is  a  system  of  signs,  composed  of  certain  images, 
usually  auditory,  motor  or  visual.  Thinking,  on  the  other 
hand,  necessarily  includes  a  consciousness  of  untemporal 
unity.  It  is  absurd  to  assert  that  this  feeling  of  unity  is 
absolutely  dependent  on  one's  possession  of  any  specific 
set  of  images. 

Certain  experiences  of  the  deaf  and  dumb  furnish  inter- 
esting testimony  on  exactly  this  point.  D'Estrella,  an 
educated  deaf-mute,  has  given  a  detailed  account  of  his 
moral  and  theological  reasoning  in  the  very  early  years  of 
his  neglected  childhood.^  He  had  never  attended  school, 
knew  nothing  of  the  conventional  gesture-language,  and 
possessed,  in  fact,  only  a  few  rude  signs,  none  of  them 
standing  for  abstract  ideas.  Yet,  during  this  time,  he  not 
only  gained  a  belief  that  the  moon  is  a  person,  —  a  con- 
clusion carefully  reasoned  from  facts  of  the  moon's  motion 
and  regular  appearance,  —  but,  by  meditating  on  other 
nature-facts,  he  found  for  himself  a  god,  a  Strong  Man 
behind  the  hills,  who  threw  the  sun  up  into  the  sky  as 
boys  throw  fireballs,  who  puffed  the  clouds  from  his  pipe, 


1  Cf.  Appendix,  Bibliography. 

2  James,  Philosophical  Keviczv,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  613  scq. 


250  Language  and  TJiought 

and  who  showed  his  passion  by  sending  forth  the  wind, 
Mr.  Ballard,  another  deaf-mute,  describes  a  parallel  experi-  • 
ence,^  his  meditation  "some  two  or  three  years  before  .  .  . 
initiation  into  the  rudiments  of  written  language,"  on  "  the 
question.  How  came  the  world  into  being?".  Testimony 
of  this  sort,  though  of  course  it  may  be  criticised  as  in- 
volving the  memory  of  long-past  experiences,  confirms  the 
antecedent  probability  that  thinking  may  be  carried  on 
in  any  terms  —  concrete  as  well  as  verbal.  Whenever 
one  is  conscious  of  an  image,  verbal  or  concrete,  as  iden- 
tical in  a  group  of  more  complex  experiences,  then  one  is 
generalizing.  The  generalized  image,  as  we  have  seen, 
is  often  that  of  a  word,  but  it  is  often,  also,  that  of  a  motor 
adjustment,  and  it  need  not  be  either.  Whenever  one  is 
conscious  of  the  wholeness  of  a  complex,  with  emphasized 
part,  then  one  is  judging.  The  judgment  often  includes 
an  imaged  proposition,  but  does  not  necessarily  contain  it. 
Whenever,  finally,  one  is  conscious  of  successive  discrim- 
inated wholes,  one  reasons.  Reasoning,  to  be  sure,  more 
often  than  conceiving  or  judging,  has  a  verbal  accompani- 
ment, yet  reasoning  also  may  be  carried  on  without  words. 
Conversely,  the  use  of  the  general  term,  proposition  or 
syllogism  is  no  sure  indication  of  judging  or  reasoning. 
For  these  forms  of  word-series  have  become  so  habitual, 
that  one  may  use  them  without  full  realization  of  their 
meaning.  For  example,  the  proposition,  "  the  apple  is 
yellow,"  may  not  mean  more  to  the  man  who  speaks  it 
than  the  words  'yellow  apple,'  that  is  to  say,  no  judgment 
at  all,  no  idea  of  differentiated  wholeness,  need  be  in- 
volved ;  and  the  propositional  form  of  the  words  may  be 
a  mere  unconscious  reflex,  due  to  habit.  Evidently,  there- 
fore, the  psychologist  must  be  on  his  guard  against  the 
false  supposition,  that  wherever  proposition  or  syllogism 
is,  there  also  is  judgment  or  reasoning.  He,  of  all  men, 
must  be  alive  to  the  possibility,  that  words  do  not  always 

^  James,  "  Psychology,"  Vol.  I.,  pp.  266  scq. 


Language  and  Thotight  251 

reveal,  or  even  conceal,  any  '  thought  within,'  but  that  they 
may  be  used  without  any  meaning,  for  mere  pleasure  in 
their  liquid  syllables,  their  rotund  vowels,  their  emotional 
impressivcness.  In  a  prattling  and  babbling  age  which 
rolls  polysyllables  like  sweet  morsels  under  the  tongue, 
the  psychologist  must  practise  himself  heroically  in  the 
task  of  abjuring  language  for  its  own  sake. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
RECOGNITION 


As  there  are  two  ways  of  regarding  perception,  imagina- 
tion and  thought,  so,  also,  there  are  two  possible  theories 
of  recognition.  It  may  be  described,  in  the  first  place, 
without  reference  to  any  recognizing  self,  as  the  occurrence 
of  '  recognized,'  that  is,  of  familiar  percepts  and  images. 
From  this  point  of  view,  the  discussion  resolves  itself  in 
the  main  to  a  study  of  the  nature  of  the  feeling  of  famili- 
arity. Such  a  study  will  form  the  second  division  of  this 
chapter. 

But  recognition  ordinarily  means  far  more  to  us  than  the 
bare  occurrence  of  familiar  facts.  It  is  the  consciousness 
of  myself,  '  the  constantly  presupposed,  central,  individual 
self  of  everyday  life,'  in  its  relation  to  familiar  past  facts, 
psychical  and  physical.  These  facts  are  not  impersonally 
and  unattachedly  familiar  ;  they  are  familiar  to  me  and  I 
recognize  them,  I  remember  them,  I  attach  them  to  my- 
self, I  claim  them,  I  hold  them.  This  essentially  personal 
character  of  recognition  (or  memory,  as  it  is  often  named) 
is  admitted  by  most  psychologists,  and  forms  the  basis  of 
many  philosophical  theories.  "  What  is  memory  ?  "  John 
Stuart  Mill  asks.^  "  It  is  not  merely  having  the  idea  of 
[a]  fact  recalled.  It  is  having  the  idea  recalled  along 
with  the  belief  that  the  fact,  which  it  is  idea  of,  really  hap- 
pened .  .  .  and  .  .  .  to  myself .  Memory  implies  an  Ego  who 
formerly  experienced  the  facts  remembered,  and  who  was 

1  Note  33  to  Vol.  IT.,  Chapter  XIV.,  §  7,  of  James  Mill's  "Analysis  of  the 
Phenomena  of  the  Human  Mind." 

252 


Recognition  253 

the  same  Ego  then  as  now.  The  phenomenon  of  self  and 
that  of  memory  are  merely  two  sides  of  the  same."  David 
Hume  expresses  the  same  relation  in  his  statement  that 
"  memory  is  to  be  considered  as  the  source  of  personal  iden- 
tity." 1  We  are  not  now  concerned  with  the  philosophy  of 
self,  as  it  is  held  by  Mill  and  by  Hume  and  implied  in  these 
assertions,  but  simply  with  their  psychological  teaching  of 
the  close  relation  between  remembering  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  self.  Traces  of  the  same  view  will  be  found,  indeed, 
in  writings  more  definitely  psychological.  Wundt,  for 
instance,  calls  attention  ^  to  the  fact  that  supplementary 
associations  in  recognition  "  belong  to  a  group  of  con- 
scious complexes,  with  which  self-consciousness  is  in- 
grown " ;  and  James  defines  memory^  as  "knowledge  of 
an  event  or  fact  .  .  .  with  the  additional  consciousness  that 
we  have  thought  or  experienced  it  before." 

The  nature  of  recognition  as  self-consciousness  may  be 
briefly  considered.  It  is  like  perception,  thought  and 
imagination,  in  that  it  is  a  relatively  passive  experience.* 
It  is  different  from  them  all  in  its  greater  emphasis  on  the 
self  which  experiences.  I  may  almost  lose  myself  in  my 
absorbed  perception  or  imagination  of  some  scene  or  object, 
but  I  cannot  recognize  without  being  the  more  vividly 
conscious  of  myself  and  of  the  recognized  object  or  scene 
as  related  to  me.  Recognition,  moreover,  may  be  either 
Uke  perception  and  thought,  or  like  imagination,  in  its 
reference  to  other  selves.  I  need  not  be  immediately 
conscious  of  other  people  as  sharing  the  familiarity 
of  an  experience,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  my  sense  of 
familiarity  may  take  in  a  consciousness  of  other  selves. 
In  other  words,  one's  memory-world  is  both,  like  one's 
revery-world,  a  private  domain  of  feelings  all  one's  own, 
and  it  is  also  a  public  world  of  communicable  experiences. 

This  consciousness  of  other  selves,  however,  like  that  of 

1  "Treatise,"  Bk.  I.,  Pt.  IV.,  §  6. 

2  "  Physiologische  Psychologic,"  4te  Aufl.,  II.,  p.  4S9. 

3  op.  cii..  Vol.  I.,  p.  648.  *  Cf.  Chapter  XXL,  p.  306. 


254  Recogn  it  ion 

thought  and  perception,  is  relatively  indirect.  As  we  shall 
see,  direct  relations  to  people  are  those  of  emotion,  will  and 
faith  :  we  always  love  or  hate  them,  subordinate  or  follow 
them,  compel  or  yield  allegiance.^  When,  therefore,  we 
speak  of  recognizing  people,  we  really  mean  that  we  recog- 
nize their  names  or  their  faces  ;  and  this  recognition  is 
merely  a  factor  of  our  directly  personal  relation  to  them. 
But  recognizing,  viewed  as  personal  attitude,  no  less  than 
as  recognized  idea,  includes,  as  characteristic  element,  the 
feeling  of  familiarity.  The  close  description  and  classifi- 
cation of  recognition  as  complex  experience  is,  in  great 
part,  therefore,  an  analysis  of  this  familiarity-consciousness. 

II 

Recognition,  from  whatever  point  of  view  we  regard  it, 
is  of  two  main  types.  It  is  either  perception  or  imagina- 
tion, combined  with  the  feeling  of  familiarity ;  in  other 
words,  either  a  percept  or  an  image  may  be  recognized.  For 
example,  one  recognizes  the  man  whom  one  meets,  face  to 
face  on  the  street,  or  the  friend,  at  this  moment  in  Labra- 
dor, of  whom  one  is  thinking.  Our  present  problem  is  the 
consideration  of  the  obvious  difference  between  familiar 
and  unfamiliar  consciousness  of  person,  object  or  scene. 
We  are  to  study  the  nature  of  this  familiarity,  to  ask  our- 
selves, for  example,  what  makes  only  one  figure  familiar  in 
the  crowd  which  seethes  through  a  great  railway  station, 
or  why  one's  image  of  the  Jungfrau  is  famiUar  and  one's 
image  of  Mount  Shasta  unfamiliar. 

The  feeling  of  familiarity  has  already  been  referred  to 
as  a  relational  experience.  This  account  of  it  must  now 
be  justified  in  more  detail.  For,  as  has  been  shown,  the 
very  existence  of  relational  elements  is  denied  or  ignored 
by  most  psychologists,  and  we  have,  therefore,  no  right  to 
take  them  for  granted  without  consideration.     We  shall 

1  Cf.  Chapters  XX.  and  XXI. 


The  Feeling  of  Familiarity  255 

begin  by  discussing  those  accounts  of  the  feeling  of  famil- 
iarity, which  reduce  it  to  sensational  or  to   affective  ele- 
ments.    The  first  of  these  is  most  easily  stated  in  terms 
of  idea-psychology,  though   it  could   be   formulated  after 
the  other  fashion.     It  is  the  theory  that  familiarity  con- 
sists in  the  presence,  within  percept  or  image,  of  associ- 
ated images,  supplementing  the  bare,  unfamiliar  percept 
or  image,  of  object  or  event.     On  this  view  (that  associ- 
ated images  must  form  a  part  of  all  'familiar'  ideas),  my 
image  of  a  yellow  omnibus  with  three  white  horses  asso- 
ciates, first,  the  visual  image  of  a  crowded  square  and  of 
the  Doric  portico  of  a  great  church,  next  the  complex  audi- 
tory image  of  trampling  horses'  feet  and  street  cries,  and 
finally,  a  verbal  image,  and  along  with  this  last  image  comes 
the  familiarity  as  I  say  to  myself,  "  the   Fillcs  de  Cahairc 
omnibus,   starting  out  from  the  Madeleine."      Or,  let  us 
suppose  the  case  of  a  familiar  percept,  in  place  of  a  famil- 
iar memory-image  :  my  recognition,  for  example,  of  a  long- 
lost  copy  of  "  In  Memoriam  "  which  I  find,  behind  a  row 
of  tall  volumes  on  a  bookshelf.     The  bare  percept  of  the 
worn,  old,  brown  leather  volume,  with  its  dulled  gilding  and 
its  yellow  pages,  is  followed  by  a  perfect  rush  of  images. 
Among  them,  perhaps,  are  the  visual  image  of  the  dormer 
window  in  my  father's  study  and  of  myself,  a  mere  child, 
curled  up  in  it,  looking  up  from  this  old  book  to  watch  the 
doves  as  they  circle  about  the  neighboring,  gray  church 
spire,  the  auditory  image  of  the  voice  which  used  to  read 
aloud  from  the  poem,  and  finally,  the  verbal  image  of  the 
words,  "  My  old  '  In  Memoriam' ;  "  and  with  these  images 
comes  the  gush  of  familiarity-feeHng  which  pervades  the 
experience. 

There  is  not,  then,  the  faintest  reason  to  doubt,  that  the 
familiar  percept  and  image  usually  include  associated 
images  of  name  and  of  former  environment.  But  two 
important  facts  forbid  the  conclusion  that  the  recognition 
or  famiUarity  consists  of  these  supplementary  images.  In 
the  first  place,   it   is    highly  probable   that  percepts    and 


256       FamiliatHty  and  Supplementary  Images 

images  are  sometimes  familiar  without  the  occurrence  of 
supplementary  images.  Such  cases  are  doubtless  very 
rare,  and  need  to  be  carefully  tested,  for  one  may  often 
suppose  oneself  to  recognize  an  object,  without  knowing 
name  or  date  or  attendant  detail,  and  yet  later  intro- 
spection may  discover  the  presence  of  some  supplementary 
image,  however  insignificant,  some  imaged  movement  or 
odor  or  intonation.  In  spite  of  this  difficulty,  certain  good 
observers  are  convinced  that  percepts  and  images  are  occa- 
sionally familiar,  without  supplementary  images.  The  Dan- 
ish psychologist,  Harold  Hoffding,  holds  this  view,  and 
instances  an  unaccustomed  and  unnamed,  yet  familiar,  tint 
in  the  sky,  and  an  unlocated  organic  sensation.  In  these 
cases,  he  says,  "  we  know  nothing  about  the  former  setting 
of  the  experience ;  we  know  neither  the  time  nor  the  cir- 
cumstances of  its  former  occurrence,  we  do  not  know  even 
the  name.  The  objects  are,  nevertheless,  '  familiar,'  though 
introspection  shows  not  the  faintest  trace  of  other  repre- 
sentations, awakened  by  the  recognized  phenomenon."  ^ 

More  important  than  this  general  testimony  is  the  result 
of  certain  experimental  observations  made  by  Lehmann, 
another  Danish  psychologist.^  He  tested  several  observers, 
with  a  series  of  sixty-six  odors,  and  found,  in  seven  per 
cent  of  the  tests,  that  the  odors  were  familiar,  and  that  the 
persons  tested  were,  nevertheless,  unable  to  name  them  or 
in  any  way  to  connect  them  with  other  experiences.  A  repe- 
tition of  Lehmann's  experiment,  under  more  careful  condi- 
tions in  the  Wellesley  College  laboratory,  has  corroborated 
these  results. 

In  the  end,  however,  every  one  must  decide,  by  intro- 
spection, whether  or  not  the  feeling  of  familiarity  consists 
in  the  presence  of  supplementary  images.  To  the  writer 
it  seems  perfectly  certain  that  these  images,  when  they  are 
present,  are  accompaniments,  not  constituents,  of  the  famil- 


1  "  Vierteljahrschrift  fiir  Wissenschaftliche  Philosophic,"  XIII,  p.  425. 

2  Wundt's  "  Philosophische  Studien,"  Ud.  VII. 


Familiai^ity  and  Bodily  Attitude  257 

iarity-feeling.  The  familiarity  of  a  face,  for  example,  does 
not  consist  in  a  verbal  image  of  the  name,  or  of  a  scene, 
nor  in  any  combination  of  images.  The  familiarity  may, 
to  be  sure,  attach  to  these  supplementary  images,  and  not 
to  the  original  percept  or  image  ;  for  instance,  not  the  face, 
but  the  name  which  it  suggests,  may  be  familiar ;  and  be- 
cause the  feeling  of  familiarity  arises  along  with  the  image 
of  name  or  of  former  scene,  it  is  natural  to  confuse  them. 
But,  in  the  experience  of  the  writer,  the  feeling  of  famil- 
iarity itself  is  individual  and  distinctive,  it  persists  in  vary- 
ing experiences,  and  it  clearly  is  something  besides  the 
supplementary  images  which  accompany  it. 

Abandoning  this  theory,  we  therefore  consider  a  second: 
the  conception  of  familiarity  as  consciousness  of  the  relaxed 
or  '  easy  '  bodily  attitude  characteristic  of  recognition.  We 
have  all  observed  the  change  from  the  strained  position  of 
sense-organs  and  limbs,  in  puzzling  over  an  unrecognized 
object,  to  this  relaxed  and  unstrained  attitude  of  recogni- 
tion. Titchener  describes  this  complex  of  organic  sensa- 
tions, set  up  by  an  easy  bodily  attitude,  as  in  fact  simply 
'a  weakened  survival  of  the  emotion  of  relief.'  "To  an 
animal,"  he  adds,  "so  defenceless  as  was  primitive  man, 
the  strange  must  always  have  been  cause  of  anxiety.  The 
bodily  attitude  which  expresses  recognition  is  still  that  of 
relief  from  tension."  ^ 

This  is  doubtless  an  accurate  account  of  the  bodily  sen- 
sations which  accompany  the  feeling  of  familiarity —  sensa- 
tions, in  other  words,  of  bodily  relaxation,  more  constant 
in  our  moods  of  recognition  than  we  realize.  Yet  nobody 
can  well  suppose  that  it  is  precisely  the  same  thing  to  be 
conscious  of  the  easing  of  one's  bodily  attitude  and  of  an 
object's  familiarity.  At  the  most,  these  organic  sensations 
can  form  only  a  part  of  the  feeling  of  familiarity.  This 
conception  is,  therefore,  combined  with  another,  and  famili- 
arity-feeling is  defined  as  the  mood  of  pleasantness  com- 

1  "Outline,"  §  70. 


258  Familiarity  and  Pleasantness 

bined  with  sensations  of  bodily  relaxation.  Now,  it 
certainly  is  often  true  that  recognition  is  a  pleasant  expe- 
rience. But  when  I  call  an  object  or  a  scene  '  familiar,'  I 
mean  by  that  term  something  more  than  *  pleasant  and 
productive  of  bodily  relaxation,'  and  when  I  say  that  the 
familiarity  of  a  landscape  is  pleasant,  I  mean  that  the 
landscape  is  '  familiar  and  pleasant,'  not  that  it  is  '  famil- 
iar, namely,  pleasant.'  This  relation  becomes  clearer 
by  comparison  with  pleasant  sensational  experiences. 
Brilliant  color  is  usually  pleasant,  as  familiarity  is,  but 
the  color  is  accompanied  by  the  pleasantness,  not  iden- 
tical with  it,  and  in  the  same  way  the  familiar  is  pleas- 
ant, though  the  pleasantness  is  not  a  part  of  the  familiarity. 

Moreover,  it  is  not  perfectly  certain  that  the  familiar 
always  is  pleasant.  The  ordinary  experiences  of  tiring  of 
amusements  and  growing  weary  of  one's  surroundings,  in 
other  words,  the  everyday  feelings  of  tediousness  and 
of  ennui,  seem  to  be  illustrations  of  familiar  experiences, 
which  are  unpleasant,  not  in  themselves,  but  precisely  be- 
cause of  their  familiarity.  At  the  same  time,  too  great 
stress  must  not  be  laid  on  this  argument.  For,  in  opposi- 
tion, it  may  be  urged  that  these  apparently  unpleasant,  yet 
familiar,  experiences  are  felt  as  familiar  for  only  a  brief 
time,  and  that  when  they  later  lose  the  evanescent  pleas- 
antness, they  lose,  with  it,  the  sense  of  familiarity. 

The  familiarity-feeling  is,  then,  neither  a  group  of  sup- 
plementary images,  nor  a  consciousness  of  bodily  attitude, 
nor  a  feehng  of  pleasantness,  though  ordinarily,  perhaps 
even  always,  accompanied  by  all  these  experiences.  In 
no  one  of  these  phenomena,  however  constant  their  appear- 
ance, and  in  no  combination  of  them,  does  the  feehng  of 
familiarity  consist  ;  and  since  virtually  no  other  account 
of  it  has  ever  been  given,  in  terms  of  mere  sensational  and 
attributive  elements,  we  have  a  right  to  say,  if  our  careful  in- 
trospection accords  with  that  of  this  book,  that  the  feeling  of 
familiarity  does  not  consist  in  such  sensational  and  attribu- 
tive elements.    We  are  fairly  driven,  therefore,  to  the  doctrine 


Analysis  of  the  Feeling  of  Fainiliarity     259 

that  familiarity-feeling  is  fundamentally  a  relational  expe- 
rience. Beyond  this  indefinite  statement  it  is  difficult  to 
proceed,  for  relational  experiences,  as  we  have  seen,  pre- 
sent grave  difficulties  to  the  analyst.  It  is  hard  to  analyze 
them,  in  the  first  place,  because  it  is  impossible  to  regulate 
their  physical  and  physiological  conditions,  and  conse- 
quently to  apply  experimental  tests,  and  in  the  second 
place,  because  the  relational  elements  so  closely  fuse  with 
each  other.  It  is  quite  possible,  therefore,  to  realize  the 
distinctiveness  of  familiarity-feeling  and  also  its  complex- 
ity, and  yet  to  be  unable  to  analyze  it  further.  Like  some 
sensational  complexes,  humidity,  for  example,  it  is  so  inti- 
mate a  fusion  of  elements  as  to  have  an  individuality  of  its 
own.  Rut  like  that,  too,  it  is,  after  all,  capable  of  analysis 
into  simpler  parts,  the  relational  feelings  of  '  same  '  and 
of  'past.'  In  other  words,  the  recognition  of  an  object 
seems  to  mean,  when  reflected  on,  the  consciousness  '  same 
with  a  past  thing,'  and  the  recognition  of  an  event  means 
the  awareness  of  '  this  event  identical-with-something-past.' 
Closely  observed,  therefore,  every  feeling  of  familiarity  is 
analyzable  into  these  factors.  This  does  not  mean  that 
we  necessarily  think  of  the  words  '  same '  or  '  past,'  but 
that  we  have  special  sorts  of  feeling  expressed  by  these 
words.  The  feeling  of  the  '  same  '  is  relatively  simple. 
The  analysis  of  the  '  feeUng  of  past '  is  far  more  difficult. 
It  involves,  like  all  consciousness  of  temporal  relation,  a 
realization  of  the  '  moment,'  that  is,  of  the  fact  which  is 
linked  with  other  facts  in  two  directions.  But  the  '  past ' 
is  the  irrevocable,  unrevivable  moment.  The  feeling  of 
the  past  may,  therefore,  be  roughly  described  as  the  con- 
sciousness of  an  irrevocable  fact,  hnked  in  two  directions 
with  other  facts. ^ 

At  the  present  stage,  however,  of  our  training  in  psy- 
chological method,  it  is  idle  to  pursue  too  far  an  analysis, 
incapable  of  verification  and  precise  formulation  by  experi- 

1  Cf.  p.  301. 


26o  Paramnesia 

mental  methods.  We  have  seen  that  the  feeling  of 
familiarity  is  a  relational,  not  primarily  a  sensational  or 
an  attributive  experience,  and  that  familiarity-feeling  is 
analyzable  into  simpler  relational  experiences:  (i)  the 
feeling  of 'same,' and  (2),  the  feeling  of  '  past '  (probably 
involving  a  feeling  of  linkage,  or  connection).  Further- 
more, we  have  observed  that  familiarity  is  almost  always  a 
pleasant  experience,  including  the  consciousness  of  a  re- 
laxed bodily  attitude  ;  and  that  the  familiar,  or  recognized, 
percept  or  image  is  almost  always,  though  not  invariably, 
accompanied  by  supplementary  images,  concrete  and  ver- 
bal, to  which  the  familiarity  often  attaches. 

It  should  be  noticed  that  the  feeling  of  familiarity  often 
accompanies  experiences,  which  are  not  reproductions  or 
repetitions  of  the  past.  This  false  recognition  goes  by  the 
inaccurate  name  of  paramnesia,  or  false  memory.  Its  com- 
monest form  is  the  '  been-here-before '  feeling  which  some- 
times overwhelms  us  when  we  enter  places  which  are  strange 
to  us  and  scenes  which  are  new.  This  is  a  case  of  false 
perceptional  recognition,  and  is  paralleled  by  experiences 
characteristic  of  many  forms  of  insanity  :  a  man's  delusion, 
for  example,  that  he  has  himself  written  the  articles  which 
he  reads  in  the  daily  papers.  A  second  sort  of  paramnesia 
is  false  image-recognition.  Many  of  our  dream-imagina- 
tions and  many  experiences  of  the  mentally  deranged  are 
of  this  type,  but  even  commoner  illustrations  of  it  are 
the  inaccurate  testimony  and  the  fictitious  '  recollections ' 
of  perfectly  honest  people.  Nicolay  and  Hay,  the  biogra- 
phers of  Lincoln,  are  quoted  ^  as  saying,  from  their  experi- 
ence in  editing  recollections,  that  "  mere  memory  unassisted 
by  documentary  evidence  is  utterly  unreliable  after  a  lapse 
of  fifteen  years"  ;  and  a  French  writer,  Le  Bon,  says  expli- 
citly, "  Works  of  history  must  be  considered  as  works  of 
pure   imagination  —  they  are  fanciful  accounts  of  ill-ob- 

^  Burnham,  "  Memory,"  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  435. 


Recognition  and  Memory  261 

served  facts.  Had  not  the  past  left  us  its  monumental 
works,  we  should  know  absolutely  nothing  in  reality  with 
regard  to  bygone  times."  Without  going  to  this  extreme, 
we  certainly  must  admit  that  we  have  countless  experiences 
of  false  recognition,  in  which,  as  we  have  said,  the  '  feel- 
ing of  familiarity '  attaches  itself  to  some  novel  percept  or 
image. 

In  conclusion,  a  fresh  reference  must  be  made  to  the 
widely  different  uses  of  the  words  '  recognition '  and 
'  memory.'  In  this  book,  memory  is  defined  as  the  faith- 
fully reproduced  imagination.  On  this  view,  a  memory 
may  or  may  not  be  a  recognition.  One  may  be  dreamily 
conscious,  for  example,  of  an  imaged  figure,  before  one 
wakes  up  to  the  consciousness  of  its  familiarity,  exclaim- 
ing, "  It  is  Murillo's  St.  John  in  the  National  Gallery." 
Yet  all  the  time  the  imaged  picture,  if  a  reproduction  of 
the  real  one,  is  remembered,  though  it  is  not  recognized. 

Opposed  to  this  view,  is  the  conception  of  memory  as 
the  imagination-form  of  what  we  have  called  recognition.^ 
On  this  hypothesis,  an  image,  however  faithfully  recalled, 
is  a  mere  reproduced  image,  not  a  memory,  unless  it  is 
known  as  familiar ;  and  the  familiar  image,  however  false 
the  familiarity,  is  '  remembered.'  From  this  point  of  view 
recognition  means  merely  'familiar  perception,'  and  mem- 
ory means  '  familiar  imagination.' 

The  physiological  basis  of  recognition,  as  consciousness 
of  familiarity,  has  never  been  experimentally  determined. 
According  to  the  ordinary  theory,  the  physiological  condi- 
tion of  familiarity-feeling  is  a  function  of  the  fibres  con- 
necting the  different  brain-areas.  But  this  is  not  a  sufficient 
physiological  explanation  of  recognition,  for  all  centrally 
aroused  images  depend  on  the  excitation  of  connecting 
fibres,  yet  not  all  centrally  aroused  images  are  recognized. 

1  Cf,  Titchener,  "  Outline,"  §  74. 


262  Physiological  Basis  of  Recognition 

It  is  far  more  likely  that  the  excitation  of  cortical  cells  con- 
ditions recognition  ;  and  this  view  accords  with  analogy, 
for  cell-activity  of  nerve-centres  is  supposed  to  condition 
sensational  and  affective  consciousness.  Probably,  there- 
fore, the  excitation  of  certain  cells  in  the  so-called  associa- 
tion-centres is  the  condition  of  recognition. 

Many  physiological  explanations  of  paramnesia  have 
been  attempted,  of  which  the  best  known  attributes  it  to 
the  functioning,  in  quick  succession,  of  the  two  sides  of 
the  brain.  This  conception  runs  athwart  the  strong  prob- 
ability that  one  side  only  of  the  brain  is  normally  active. 
Other  psychologists  explain  paramnesia  as  due  to  the  suc- 
cession, because  of  weariness,  of  ordinarily  overlapping 
brain  processes ;  still  others  believe  that  it  is  due  to  un- 
wontedly  prompt  cerebral  activity.  No  one  of  these 
explanations  is  physiologically  established. 


CHAPTER   XX 

EMOTION 


There  are,  of  course,  two  points  of  view  from  which  we 
may  regard  the  emotional  consciousness.  An  emotion 
may  be  considered,  in  the  first  place,  as  a  complex  fact  of 
consciousness  (or  idea),  which  forms  one  link  in  a  series  of 
conscious  experiences.  From  this  standpoint,  an  emotion 
is  defined  as  any  complex  fact  of  consciousness,  of  which 
either  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  is  an  important  fea- 
ture. To  quote  Titchener,  in  emotion,  the  perception  or 
image  "is  swamped  in  the  affection."  Briefly,  then,  an 
emotion  is  an  affective  complex,  and  since  there  are  pre- 
cisely two  affections,  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness, 
there  are,  as  we  shall  see,  two  main  types  of  emotion, 
those  of  happiness  and  those  of  unhappiness.  A  second- 
ary constituent  of  emotions  must  now  be  mentioned  :  the 
consciousness  of  bodily  changes,  of  warmth  or  chill,  of 
quickened  or  retarded  heart-beats,  of  respiratory  move- 
ments, as  in  laughing  or  sobbing,  and  of  movements  of  the 
limbs,  such  as  trembling  or  clinching  the  fists.  Probably 
all  emotions,  and  certainly  most  emotions,  contain  these 
ideas  of  bodily  change.  It  will  be  most  convenient  to  dis- 
cuss them  later,  in  connection  with  our  study  of  the  physi- 
ological conditions  of  emotion. 

But  emotion  is  not  adequately  described  as  a  mere  idea, 
containing  affections  and  consciousness  of  bodily  change. 
For  love  and  hatred,  pity  and  envy,  jealousy  and  contempt 
are  intensely  personal  experiences,  and  are  not  fully  known 

263 


264  Personal  Emotion 

while  they  are  looked  on  as  mere  ideas  without  any 
reference  to  the  selves  who  '  have '  the  ideas.  Indeed, 
we  cannot  think  of  love,  sympathy  and  contempt,  without 
taking  account  of  the  selves  who  love  and  are  loved,  who 
sympathize  and  are  sympathized  with,  who  despise  and 
are  despised. 

Emotion  —  now  regarded  not  as  mere  idea,  but  as  experi- 
ence of  a  self  related  to  other  selves  or  to  things  —  is  like 
perception,  thought,  imagination  and  memory,  the  experi- 
ences which  we  have  so  far  studied,  in  that  it  is  recog- 
nized as  passive  relation  of  one  self  to  another.  This 
characteristic,  passivity,  will  stand  out  more  clearly  as 
contrasted,  in  the  chapter  which  follows,  with  the  activity  of 
will  and  of  faith.  From  perception,  thought  and  the  rest, 
emotion,  however,  is  also  distinguished.  For  emotion  is 
the  relation  of  a  happy  or  unhappy  self  to  particular  other 
selves  or  to  other  things,  to  '  this  person  '  or  to  '  that  land- 
scape,' not  to  'people  in  general  '  nor  to  '  any  scene.'  In 
perception  and  in  thought,  we  assume,  as  we  have  seen,  our 
agreement  with  all  selves  or  with  any  selves,  that  is,  with 
an  undifferentiated  mass  of  selves.  Emotion,  on  the  other 
hand,  narrows  and  particularizes.  The  criminal  fears,  not 
authority  in  general,  but  the  personified  executors  of  the 
law ;  the  noiiveau  riche  envies,  not  society  in  the  abstract, 
but  the  living,  concretely  successful  men  and  women  ;  the 
true  philanthropist  loves,  not  humanity  in  general,  but 
actual,  suffering,  striving  human  beings.  And  because 
we  realize,  all  of  us,  this  concrete  personality  of  emotion, 
we  so  quickly  detect  the  false  note  of  pretended  feeling, 
and  so  quickly  suspect  that  '  affection  for  childhood,' 
'  love  of  the  animal  world,'  '  sympathy  with  the  masses,' 
are  pseudo-sentiments  and  pretended  emotions.  The  real 
emotions  are  particularizing,  never  abstract  or  generaliz- 
ing, and  the  resentment,  with  which  every  vigorous  man 
receives  public  charity  or  mere  institutional  aid,  is  a  wit- 
ness to  the  universal  conviction  that  emotion  is  the  rela- 
tion of  individual  with  individual. 


The  Individuality  of  Emotion  265 

This  individuating  power  of  emotion  is  well  suggested 
in  Matthew  Arnold's  description  of  the  meeting  of  Sohrab 
and  Rustum.  Father  and  son  come  forth  to  do  battle  in 
the  level  plain  on  the  banks  of  the  Oxus,  between  the 
Tartar  and  the  Persian  hosts.  They  are  not  known  to 
each  other,  and  Rustum,  the  father,  has  denied  his  own 
name ;  but  Sohrab,  in  spite  of  this  protestation,  vaguely 
realizes  the  presence  of  his  father,  and  exclaims:  — 

"Thou  sayest  thou  art  not  Rustum  ;  be  it  so! 
Who  art  thou,  then,  that  canst  so  touch  my  soul? 
Boy  as  I  am,  I  have  seen  battles  too,  .  .  . 
Have  .  .  . 

.  .  .  heard  their  hollow  roar  of  dying  men. 
But  never  was  my  heart  thus  touched  before. 
There  are  enough  foes  in  the  Persian  host 
Whom  I  may  meet,  and  strike  and  feel  no  pang, 
But  oh!  let  there  be  peace  'twixt  thee  and  me." 

Sohrab  has  heard  the  cries  of  battle,  but  they  have  not 
touched  his  heart,  for  they  have  assailed  his  ears  as  the 
sounds  of  mere  undifferentiated  '  dying  men ' ;  he  has 
met  and  struck,  without  a  pang,  undistinguished  Persian 
champions ;  now,  at  last,  he  meets  one  whom  he  no  longer 
knows  as  '  Persian,'  as  '  warrior  '  or  as  'foe,'  but  as  'thou,' 
and  with  this  acknowledgment  of  personal  relation  his 
heart  is  softened  and  his  arm  unnerved. 

II 

We  have  now  to  describe  the  emotions  in  more  detail. 
And,  in  the  effort  to  be  true  to  the  distinctions  of  actual 
experience,  we  shall  find,  as  will  appear,  that  the  most 
significant  classes  of  emotions,  as  commonly  recognized, 
are  based  on  the  varying  relations  of  different  selves  to 
each  other.  The  significant  contrast  between  unhappy 
and  happy  emotions  is,  however,  common  both  to  idea-psy- 
chology and  self-psychology.  Our  description  of  emotional 
experiences  is  based  on  the  following  outline  :  — 


266  Classes  of  Emotion 


A.    Personal  Emotions 

I.  Egoistic  or  Unsymi^athetic  Emotions:  — 

a.  Primary. 

1.  Happiness,  realized  as  due  to  others  .     .     .     Liking. 

2.  Unhappiness,  realized  as  due  to  others    .     .     Dislike. 

b.  Developed. 

1.  Happiness,  realized  as  due  to  others  .     .     .     Gratitude. 

2.  Unhappiness,  realized   as   due  to  others, 

Who  are 

(rt)  Greater  than  oneself Terror. 

(/^)   Equal  to  oneself Hate. 

(i)    Inferior  to  oneself Contempt. 

II.  Altruistic  or  Sympathetic  Emotions:  — 

a.  Hai)piness  tlirough  shared  happiness   ....     Mitfreude. 

b.  Unhappiness  through  shared  unhappiness     .     .     Pity. 

III.  Mixed  Emotions:  — 

a.  Happiness  through  another's  unhappiness  .     .     Malice. 

b.  Unhappiness  through  another's  happiness  .     .     Envy. 

B.    Impersonal  Emotions^ 


We  recognize,  first,  the  distinction  between  personal 
emotion,  the  passive  and  particularizing  relation  of  happy 
or  unhappy  self  to  other  selves,  and  impersonal  emotion, 
a  similar  relation  not  to  other  selves,  but  to  events  or 
to  things.  Of  these  classes,  that  of  personal  emotion  is 
most  primitive  and  most  significant,  and  we  shall  first  con- 
sider it. 

a.     PERSONAL    EMOTION 

Personal  emotion  appears  in  the  two  well-marked  phases 
which  underlie  all  consciousness,  the  imperious  or  egoistic 
and  the  sympathetic  or  adoptive.  Imperious  or  unsym- 
pathetic emotion  is  sometimes  described  as  if  it  were  a 
mere  recognition  of  one's  own  self  without  reference  to 

1  For  amplification,  see  p.  276  seq. 


Egoislic  Personal  Efnotiou  267 

any  other.  If  this  were  true,  it  would  not  be  personal 
emotion  at  all,  for  that  demands  the  relation  to  a  particu- 
lar other  self,  and  exists  only  in  so  far  as  it  emphasizes 
and  individuates  the  other  self  or  other  selves.  Like  and 
dislike,  fear  and  gratitude  and  all  the  rest  are  obviously 
expressions  of  one's  attitude  to  other  selves,  but  these 
'others'  are  not  realized  as  themselves  caring  and  hating 
and  fearing,  but  only  as  the  conscious,  yet  unfeeling,  tar- 
gets or  instruments  to  one's  own  emotions. 

It  follows  from  this  distinction  that  many  kindly,  good- 
natured  feelings  are  rightly  classed  as  unsympathetic. 
Mere  liking,  for  example,  is  as  unsympathetic  and  ego- 
istic an  experience  as  dislike.  Toward  this  particular 
realized  self  one  reacts  with  pleasure ;  from  this  other,  one 
turns  away.  But  the  pleasure  is  as  distinctly  individual 
and  unshared  as  the  dissatisfaction.  The  other  selves  are 
means  to  one's  content  or  discontent,  and  are  thought  of 
as  subordinated  to  one's  own  interests. 

We  have,  therefore,  two  distinct  types  of  unsympathetic 
emotion.  On  the  one  hand,  there  is  the  moroseness,  the 
discontent,  the  hostile  fear  or  hate  or  contempt,  of  the  man 
who  realizes  himself  as  unfavorably  related  to  other  selves. 
Quite  as  significant,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  unruffled 
good-nature,  the  sunshiny  content,  the  unaffected  liking,  or 
even  gratitude,  of  the  individual  who  feels  that  he  is  happy 
in  his  relations  with  other  selves.  The  common  temptation 
is,  of  course,  to  give  to  these  genial  feelings  an  ethical 
value,  and  to  contrast  dislike,  as  selfishness,  with  liking,  as 
if  that  were  unselfish.  The  truth  is,  however,  that  the  one 
attitude  is  as  '  egoistic  '  as  the  other.  To  like  people  is  to 
realize  them  as  significant  to  one's  own  happiness,  not  to 
identify  oneself  with  their  happiness.  And,  in  truth,  a 
great  part  of  what  is  known  as  '  love  '  of  family  or  of  coun- 
try is  of  this  strictly  egoistic  nature.  Dombey  loved  his 
son  because  the  boy  was  'important  as  a  part  of  his  own 
greatness  ' ;  Victor  Hugo  is  credited  with  the  sublime  ego- 
ism of  the  assertion  "  France  is  the  world  ;  Paris  is  France ; 


268  Egoistic  Emotion  :  Eiking 

I  am  Paris  "  ;  and  many  a  man  loves  family,  church  or 
<  country  merely  as  the  embodiment  of  his  own  particular 

interests  and  purposes. 

It  is  even  possible  to  secure  other  people's  pleasure  and 
to  avoid  paining  them,  not  in  the  least  to  gain  their  happi- 
ness, but  because  their  cries  of  grief  assault  our  ears  as 
their  happy  laughter  delights  us.    The  most  consummately 
cy  heartless  figure  of  modern  literature,  Tito  Melema,  is  so 

tender-hearted  that  he  turns  his  steps,  lest  he  crush  an  in- 
T'  sect  on  the  ground,  and  devotes  a  long  afternoon  to  calm- 

ing a  little  peasant's  grief.  "The  softness  of  his  nature," 
we  are  told,  "  required  that  all  sorrow  should  be  hidden 
away  from  him."  But  this  same  Tito  Melema  betrays  wife 
and  foster-father  and  country,  in  the  interests  of  his  own 
self-indulgence  :  other  people's  emotions  are  insignificant 
to  him  in  themselves ;  he  regards  them  only  as  the  expres- 
sion of  them  rouses  him  to  delight  or  to  sorrow ;  he  never 
for  an  instant  enters  into  them,  identifies  himself  with  them, 
or  makes  them  his  own. 

The  avoidance  of  another's  pain  does,  it  must  be  added, 
require  what  is  sometimes  called  sympathy,  the  involuntary 
tendency  to  share  the  organic  sensational  consciousness  of 
other  people.  The  pain  which  one  feels  at  the  sight  of 
somebody's  wound  is  an  illustration  of  this  experience, 
known  as  'organic  sympathy.'  We  are  discussing,  how- 
ever, the  emotion  of  sympathy,  not  the  sympathetic  sensa- 
tion, and  it  is  certain  that  one  may  further  the  pleasure  or 
pain  of  others  with  purely  egoistic  emotion. 

Besides  this  fundamental  difference  between  the  per- 
sonal emotions,  liking  and  gratitude,  which  involve  pleasant- 
ness, and  the  opposite  ones,  dislike,  terror  and  hate,  which 
are  unpleasant  experiences,  we  must  take  account  also  of 
ajiother  difference,  which  marks  off  the  primary  from  the 
developed  form  of  these  feelings.  In  all  these  experiences, 
our  happiness  or  unhappiness  is  referred,  as  we  have  seen, 
to  other  selves,  and  is  realized  as  connected  with  them. 
When  the  consciousness  of  this  relation  becomes  explicit, 


Egoistic  Emotion:  Gratitttde  269 

that  is,  when  other  people  are  clearly  and  definitely  real- 
ized as  affecting  us  and  as  sources  of  our  happiness  or 
unhappiness,  then  those  vaguer  personal  feelings  of  Hke 
and  dislike  give  way  to  emotions,  in  which  the  realiza- 
tion of  others  is  more  sharp-cut  and  more  exactly  defined. 
We  may  study  these  developed  egoistic  emotions  in  more 
detail. 

The  egoistic,  imperious  emotion  which  refers  our  own 
happiness  to  other  selves  is  gratitude.  This  definition,  it 
must  be  admitted,  is  inadequate  to  the  ordinary  conception 
of  gratitude.  For  gratitude  is  more  often  regarded  from 
an  ethical  than  from  a  psychological  standpoint,  and  is 
usually  classed  as  'virtue,'  not  as  mere  '  emotion.'  There 
is,  none  the  less,  an  emotional  experience  of  gratitude  which 
is  utterly  unsympathetic,  albeit  the  natural  basis  of  sym- 
pathy. I  feel  grateful,  when  I  am  happy  over  the  further- 
ance of  my  interests  by  somebody  else,  realizing  definitely, 
at  the  same  time,  my  dependence,  in  this  happiness,  on  my 
benefactor.  This  is  gratitude,  surely,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  the  imperious  emphasis  on  my  own  happiness,  and  need 
not  be  in  any  sense  a  sympathetic,  shared  experience.  The 
constant  characteristic  of  gratitude,  as  of  mere  liking,  is  a 
sort  of  hugging  of  one's  own  pleasure,  which  is  supple- 
mented, not  obscured,  by  definitely  attributing  it  to  some- 
body else.  It  is  true  that  the  transition  is  easy  from 
gratitude  to  sympathy.  A  natural  outgrowth,  from  the 
reaHzation  of  my  own  happiness  as  influenced  by  some  one 
else,  is  the  interest  in  his  experience,  that  is,  the  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  emotional  interests.  These,  however,  are 
distinct,  not  identical  experiences,  however  closely  they  are 
connected.  The  benefactor  toward  whom  I  entertain  un- 
doubted gratitude  may  be  temperamentally  uncongenial. 
It  may  be  literally  impossible  for  me  to  sympathize  with 
him,  to  make  his  happiness  and  unhappiness  my  own,  even 
while  I  unequivocally  realize  him  as  influencing  my  happi- 
ness. Truth  to  tell,  everybody  knows  people  to  whom  he 
is  grateful,  without   feeling  the  remotest  sympathy  with 


2  70  Egoistic  Emotion :   Terror 

them,  indeed,  without  ever  understanding  them  or  getting 
their  point  of  view.  And  almost  everybody  knows  people 
who  are,  he  believes,  grateful  to  him  without  in  the  least 
sharing  in  his  own  life,  in  his  feehngs,  or  in  his  ideals.  We 
are  justified,  therefore,  in  classing  gratitude  as  imperious 
or  unsympathetic  emotion,  an  exclusive  concern  in  one's 
own  happiness,  with  a  recognition  of  other  selves  as  merely 
instruments  to  one's  own  satisfaction.  Gratitude  is,  there- 
fore, an  egoistic  experience,  though  it  naturally  adds  to 
itself  the  genuinely  sympathetic  emotion. 

The  egoistic,  or  imperious,  emotion  of  dissatisfaction  is 
the  realization  of  other  selves  as  means  to  one's  unhappi- 
ness.  It  assumes  the  characteristic  attitude  of  all  these 
unsympathetic  experiences,  regarding  others,  not  as  inde- 
pendent individuals,  but  as  significant  only  in  their  relation 
to  oneself.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  these  unpleasant  ex- 
periences are  far  more  elaborately  differentiated  than  the 
pleasant  ones  —  or  at  least,  that  they  are  distinguished  by 
many  more  names.  Closely  regarded,  these  distinctions 
are  found  to  be  based  on  the  estimate  which  is  formed  of 
those  '  other  selves,'  who  are  means  to  one's  unhappiness. 
When  these  are  realized  as  'greater,'  more  powerful,  than 
oneself,  the  resulting  emotion  is  terror ;  when  they  are 
conceived  as  on  an  equality  with  oneself,  the  emotion  is 
hate  ;  when  they  appear,  finally,  as  less  important  or  signifi- 
cant, the  feeling  is  '  scorn  '  or  '  contempt.' 

Every  revolt  from  tyranny  and  oppression  is  a  living 
illustration  of  this  contrast  of  terror  with  hatred  or  rage. 
Why  did  the  French  peasantry,  who  endured  the  burdens 
of  Louis  Quatorze,  rebel  against  the  materially  lessened 
impositions  of  Louis  Seize .?  What  is  the  nature  of  the 
emotional  contrast  between  the  two  generations,  only  a 
century  apart :  in  the  earlier  period,  hapless  suffering  from 
disease,  starvation  and  exaction  of  every  sort,  without  the 
stirring  of  opposition  ;  a  hundred  years  later,  fierce  and 
furious  resentment  against  oppression  and  misery.?  There 
is  only  one  answer  to  questions  such  as  these.     The  peas- 


Egoistic  Emotion  :  Hate  2  7 1 

ants  of  the  older  period  were  still  bound  by  the  traditional 
belief,  that  court  and  nobles  were  naturally  above  them, 
loftier  and  more  powerful  than  they.  Their  feeling  to 
these  superior  beings,  realized  as  instruments  to  their  own 
undoing,  was  of  necessity,  therefore,  the  paralyzing  emo- 
tion of  terror.  From  the  standpoint  of  the  inner  life, 
terror  is,  of  course,  what  has  been  named  unsympathetic 
or  egoistic  emotion.  That  is,  it  involves  no  adoption  of 
another's  life  as  one's  own,  but  regards  all  others  in  their 
relation  to  one's  own  experience.  So  these  French  peas- 
ants regarded  court  and  nobles  without  sympathy  or  under- 
standing, merely  as  their  own  oppressors  and  taskmasters ; 
but  the  feeling  remained  impotent  and  futile,  and  led  to  no 
effective  reaction  so  long  as  the  nobles  held,  in  the  minds 
of  these  peasants,  their  position  of  lofty  isolation.  The 
French  Revolution  was,  in  fact,  directly  due  to  the  sjDread 
of  the  doctrine  of  social  equality.  Rousseau's  teaching  of 
the  essential  likeness  of  man  to  man,  once  it  took  root  in 
the  mind  of  the  French  j^eople,  grew  of  necessity  into  the 
conviction  that  peasants  and  nobles  were  no  longer  sepa- 
rated by  an  impassable  barrier.  And  with  this  conviction 
of  their  equality,  the  unnerving  emotion  of  terror  gave 
way  to  the  invigorating,  infuriating  feeling  of  anger.  So 
it  is  with  all.  Men  rage  against  their  equals,  are  angry 
with  them  and  hate  them  :  against  the  gods  in  Olympus, 
or  the  Fates  with  spindle,  thread  and  shears,  men  have 
never  rebelled  so  long  as  they  have  regarded  them  as  un- 
approachable deities :  they  have  feared,  not  hated  them. 
Only  the  demi-gods,  the  Titans  and  the  heroes  of  Greek 
mythology,  beings  of  divine  descent  who  were  proudly  con- 
scious of  their  high  birth,  ever  made  battle  against  the 
gods ;  and  no  ancient  writer  would  attribute  to  mere  mor- 
tals even  the  impotent  hatred  of  the  gods  which  inspires 
the  Chorus  of  Swinburne's  "  Atalanta  "  :  — 

"  Lo,  with  hearts  rent  and  knees  made  tremulous, 
Lo,  with  epliemeral  lips  and  casual  breath, 
At  least  we  witness  of  thee  ere  we  die 


272  Egoistic  Etnotion  :  Scorn 

That  these  things  are  not  otherwise,  but  thus  ; 
That  each  man  in  his  heart  sigheth,  and  saith 
That  all  men,  even  as  I, 
All  we  are  against  thee,  against  thee,  O  God  most  high." 

Such  antagonism  is  possible  only  to  men  who  realize  in 
some  dim  way  that,  in  spite  of  their  pitiless  strength  and 
their  wasting  scorn,  the  gods  are  not  beyond  the  range  of 
human  hate. 

Apparent  exceptions  are  really  illustrations  of  this  prin- 
ciple, for  the  outburst  of  fury  against  one's  superior  always 
turns  out  to  be  a  momentary  denial  of  his  superiority,  a 
temporary  tearing  of  the  god  from  its  pedestal.  The  fear 
of  the  superior  beings  readily,  however,  reasserts  itself, 
and  this  explains  the  temporary  nature  of  many  revolts 
and  the  easy  resumption  of  authority.  A  handful  of  sol- 
diers may  check  the  violence  of  a  mob,  because  the  vision 
of  brass  buttons  and  uniforms  inspires  an  unreasoning  con- 
viction of  the  superiority  of  military  force,  and  transforms 
destructive  rage  into  futile  fear.  The  insubordinate  fury 
of  usually  obedient  children  is  like  mob-violence,  a  tempo- 
rary assertion  of  equality  with  their  old-time  superiors ; 
and  like  mob-fury,  the  anger  of  children  readily  gives  way 
to  the  old  acceptance  of  authority. 

The  emotion  of  scorn,  finally,  involves  the  conviction  of 
another's  inferiority.  It  is  evidently  impossible  to  despise 
a  man,  so  long  as  one  regards  him  as  one's  own  superior,  or 
even  as  one's  equal.  Contempt  is,  thus,  the  dissatisfaction 
involved  in  one's  relation  to  an  inferior  person.  The  infe- 
riority may  be  real  or  imagined,  and  of  any  sort ;  but  just 
as  gratitude  may  be  regarded  as  a  virtue,  so  contempt  is 
readily  considered  from  the  ethical  standpoint,  and  it  is 
rightly  rated  as  morally  unworthy  if  it  takes  account  of 
the  superficial  inferiority  of  fortune  or  of  station. 

The  experiences,  which  we  have  so  far  described,  have 
all  been  characterized  by  their  egoistic  narrowing  of  con- 
sciousness, their  heavy  emphasis  on  one's  own   concerns 


Sympathetic  Efuotion  273 

and  interests,  their  incurable  tendency  to  regard  other 
selves  merely  as  ministers  to  one's  own  individual  satisfac- 
tions and  dissatisfactions.  The  sympathetic  emotions  are 
manifestations  of  the  adoptive  phase  of  self-consciousness, 
the  widening  embrace  of  other  people's  interests,  the  shar- 
ing of  other  people's  happiness  and  unhappiness.  In  one's 
sympathetic  relations  with  other  people,  one  regards  them 
as  possessing  a  significance  of  their  own,  quite  aside  from 
their  relations  of  advantage  or  disadvantage  to  oneself,  and 
one  lays  hold  upon  these  new  interests  and  ideals  in  such 
wise  as  to  enlarge  the  boundaries  of  one's  own  experience. 

Emotions  of  personal  sympathy  are  of  two  main  types : 
we  are  happy  in  another's  happiness  or  unhappy  in  his 
grief.  There  is  no  English  word  to  express  the  sharing 
of  joy,  and  we  are  forced  to  borrow  from  the  Germans 
their  exact  and  perfect  word,  Jllitfrcude.  The  poverty 
of  the  English  language  expresses,  unhappily,  a  defect  in 
human  nature.  We  certainly  are  quicker  in  sympathy 
with  people's  sorrow  than  in  delight  in  their  happiness. 
It  is  easier  to  weep  to  our  friends'  mourning  than  to  dance 
to  their  piping,  easier  to  share  their  griefs  than  to  share 
their  amusements,  infinitely  easier  to  console  them  than  to 
make  holiday  with  them. 

The  greatest  distinction  in  these  simple  feelings  of 
sympathy  is  in  the  narrowness  or  the  wideness  of  them. 
There  may  be  but  one  individual  whose  experience  I 
actually  share,  whose  joys  and  sorrows  I  feel  as  mine. 
In  the  presence  of  this  one  other  self  my  strictly  individual 
happiness  is  disregarded,  and  the  boundaries  of  my  self- 
consciousness  are  enlarged.  I  live  no  longer  my  own 
life,  but  this  other  life  —  or  rather,  my  own  Hfe  includes 
this  other  life.  Yet  my  relations  to  all  others  save  this 
cherished  one  may  remain  narrowly  egoistic  :  I  may  still 
be  concerned  only  for  myself,  and  interested  in  these 
others  only  as  foils  to  my  emotions.  Life  and  literature 
abound  in  examples  of  sympathy  within  the  narrowest 
limits,  of  egoistic  emotion  giving  way  at  one  point  only. 


2  74  Sympathetic  Emotion 

Aaron  Latta  is  a  modern  illustration  of  this  attitude : 
he  lives  his  self-centred  life  undisturbed  by  the  wants,  the 
hopes,  the  cares,  of  the  village  Hfe  about  him,  but  he  is 
quick  to  notice  the  shade  on  Elspeth's  brow  and  the 
merest  quiver  on  her  lip.  With  a  true  intuition,  indeed, 
the  novelists  and  the  dramatists  have  united  to  represent 
the  most  unsympathetic  of  mortals  as  vulnerable  at  some 
point.  Dickens,  the  keen  anatomist  of  the  emotions,  has 
only  one  Scrooge  '  quite  alone  in  the  world  .  .  .  warning 
all  human  sympathy  to  keep  its  distance,'  and  represents 
even  the  Squeerses  as  possessed  of  '  common  sympathies ' 
with  their  own  children. 

Closely  following  upon  the  narrowest  form  of  sympathy, 
which  recognizes  the  claims  and  adopts  the  interests  of 
one  individual  only,  are  family-feeling,  club-feeling,  col- 
lege-feeling, church-afifiliation  and  all  the  other  sympa- 
thies with  widening  groups  of  people.  For  sympathy  is 
normally  of  slow  growth.  The  more  primitive  emotions 
are  naturally  self-centred,  and  they  give  place  only  grad- 
ually to  the  identification  of  oneself,  first  with  the  joys  and 
griefs  of  one's  mother  or  nurse  or  most  intimate  playmate, 
then  with  the  emotional  experiences  of  the  whole  family 
group,  later  with  the  hopes  and  fears  and  regrets  and 
delights  of  a  larger  circle.  It  is  interesting  to  observe 
that,  with  every  widening  of  one's  sympathy,  the  limiting 
circumference  of  one's  own  self  is  pushed  further  outward. 
The  sympathetic  person  has  always  a  richer,  concreter 
personality  than  the  self-centred  one.  He  has  actually 
shared  in  experiences  that  are  not  immediately  his  own  ; 
he  has  seen  with  other's  eyes  and  heard  with  their  ears, 
and  his  pulses  have  beat  high  to  their  hopes  and  joys: 
his  experience  has  been  enlarged  by  his  sympathies. 

There  is  something  abnormal,  therefore,  in  the  checking 
at  any  point  of  this  outgrowth  of  sympathy.  People  whose 
sympathies  embrace  only  the  members  of  their  family, 
their  cult  or  their  class  are  only  incompletely  human,  for 
a  lack  of  emotional  comprehension,  or  sympathy,  marks  a 


Mixed  Emotion  275 

stunted  personality.  Even  patriotism,  so  far  as  it  limits 
sympathy  to  feeling  with  the  inhabitants  of  any  one  corner 
of  the  globe,  deprives  a  man  of  his  birthright :  commun- 
ion in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  life  with  '  all  nations  of 
men,'  or  rather,  with  that  which  Tolstoi  calls  'the  one 
nation.' 

We  have,  finally,  to  consider  the  mixed  emotions  :  happi- 
ness through  realization  of  another's  unhappiness,  that  is, 
malice,    and   unhappiness   through    consciousness   of   an- 
other's  happiness,    that   is,   envy.     By   common   consent, 
these  are  morally  undesirable  emotions,  yet  there  can  be 
no  question  that  they  are  sympathetic,  as  well  as  egoistic, 
that  is,  that  they  require  a  genuine  sharing  of  another's 
experience.     I  cannot  envy  you,  if  I  am  so  deeply  occu- 
pied with  my  own  emotions  that  I  do  not  realize  you  as 
happy.      And  I  cannot  really  know  that  you  are  happy 
without,  in   some  degree,   experiencing  or    sharing   your 
happiness.     This,  to  be  sure,  is  often  denied :  we  are  said 
to  possess  the  idea  of  an  emotion  without  experiencing  the 
emotion  itself.     But,  surely,  to  be  conscious  of  emotion 
means  nothing  if  it  does  not  mean  to  have  the  emotion. 
I  may,  of  course,  have  the  purely  verbal  images,  '  happy,' 
*  unhappy,'  '  emotion,'  without  any  affective  consciousness 
and  without  any  realization  of  myself  in  relation  to  others ; 
but  nobody's  emotion  can  influence  my  own  without  my 
experiencing  or  sharing  it  to  some  degree.     The  resulting 
relations  to  other  selves  are,  therefore,  as  has  been  said, 
mixed  emotions.     Not  only   do    they  combine    happiness 
and  unhappiness,  but  they  supplement  a  sympathetic  by 
an   egoistic    emotion :    the    happiness    which    we    faintly 
share  with  another,  in  our  envy,  is  swamped  in  the  ego- 
istic unhappiness  which  it  arouses,  and  the  unhappiness 
of  our  fellow,  dimly  felt  in  our  maliciousness,  is  swallowed 
up  in  a  surging  happiness  that  is  quite  our  own. 

It  would  be  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose  that  mahce 
and  envy  exhaust  the  nature  of  this  emotional  experience 
of  mingled  sympathy  and  egoism.     Barrie  has  shown  us 


276  Impersoiial  Emotion 

a  perfect  embodiment  of  mixed  emotion  in  the  figure  of 
Sentimental  Tommy.  Never  was  anybody  more  sympa- 
thetic than  Tommy,  boy  and  man.  He  entered  into  the 
feehng  of  friend  and  of  foe  ahke  :  divined  and  shared  in 
Elspeth's  loneliness,  Aaron's  bitterness,  Grizel's  passion 
and  scorn,  and  Corp's  loyalty.  He  never  could  have  been 
what  he  was  to  all  of  them,  had  he  not,  up  to  a  certain 
point,  shared  actually  in  their  feelings ;  had  he  not  be- 
lieved in  himself  as  Elspeth  and  Corp  believed  in  him, 
hated  himself  as  Aaron  hated  him,  alternately  loved  and 
despised  himself  as  Grizel  loved  and  despised  him.  And 
yet  all  this  sympathetic  communion  with  others  was  merely 
a  stimulus  to  his  own  private  emotions,  a  ministry  to  the 
luxury  of  his  self-occupation,  whether  delicious  pleasure 
or  equally  delicious  misery.  Such  sympathy,  as  element  of 
one's  egoistic  and  unshared  happiness  or  unhappiness,  is 
mixed  emotion. 

b.     IMPERSONAL    EMOTION 

We  have  so  far  concerned  ourselves  with  personal  emo- 
tion, the  conscious  relation  of  happy  or  unhappy  self  with 
other  selves.  But  one  may  like  or  dislike  the  furnishings 
of  a  room  as  cordially  as  one  Hkes  or  dislikes  its  inmates, 
and  one  may  be  as  desperately  frightened  by  a  swift-roll- 
ing automobile  as  by  a  haughty  despot.  This  means  that 
emotion,  though  primarily  a  realized  relation  of  one  self  to 
other  selves,  may  be  also  a  relation  of  oneself  to  ideas  and 
to  things. 

Some  emotions,  to  be  sure,  are  necessarily  personal. 
Every  form  of  sympathy  presupposes  our  realization  of 
other  selves,  and  gratitude,  like  contempt,  is  felt  toward 
selves  and  not  toward  things.  Hate,  also,  is  a  personal 
emotion  —  since,  although  we  often  feel  a  certain  irrita- 
tion, more  than  bare  dislike,  for  inanimate  objects  when 
they  thwart  our  purposes,  yet  in  these  cases  we  probably 
personify  the  things  at  which  we  are  angry.     Such  per- 


Classes  of  Impersonal  Emotion  277 

sonification  of  inanimate  objects  is  ridiculously  clear  in  a 
child's  anger  at  the  blocks  which  refuse  to  be  built  into 
forts,  or  at  the  doors  which  resist  his  efforts  to  open 
them ;  and  even  grown-up  resentment  against  obdurate 
buttons,  creaking  hinges,  and  smoking  lamps  involves  a 
personification  of  the  offending  object.  "  Oh,  you  are  a 
stupid  old  donkey !  "  Bella  exclaims,  as  she  knocks  the 
"Complete  British  Housewife"  on  the  table;  and  most 
perverse,  inanimate  objects  are  similarly  apostrophized. 

After  all  these  eliminations,  there  none  the  less  remain 
certain  impersonal  emotions.  We  shall  not  attempt  to 
discuss,  or  even  to  enumerate  all  of  them,  but  shall  con- 
sider only  certain  representatives  of  the  class.  These  we 
may  group  together  in  the  following  summary,  distinguish- 
ing these  impersonal  emotions  not  only  from  the  stand- 
point of  self-psychology  as  egoistic  or  altruistic,  but  also 
from  the  analytic  point  of  view,  common  to  both  methods 
of  psychology,  as  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  sensational  or 
relational :  — 

Impersonal  Emotions 

I.    Egoistic  II.    Altruistic  (sentiments) 

a.  Sensational :  Like.  a.    Sensational :      ^Esthetic 

Dislike.  pleasure. 

b.  Relational:  Enjoyment  of  the  b.    Relational:     Sense     of 

familiar.  humor, 

Ennui,  etc. 

etc. 

Impersonal  emotion,  the  conscious  relation  of  happy  or 
unhappy  self  to  event  or  to  thing  is,  like  personal  emotion, 
a  narrowing  and  particularizing  experience.  Just  as  I  love 
or  hate,  pity  or  envy,  this  particular  person  or  these  people, 
and  do  not  impartially  and  indiscriminately  care  for  '  any- 
body,' so,  also,  I  like  or  dislike  this  special  thing  or  these 
things,  am  bored  by  this  monotony,  and  pleased  with  that 
familiar  experience  ;  and  my  aesthetic  pleasure  is  always  an 
absorption  in  this  pastoral  symphony,  this  western  outlook, 


278  The  /Esthetic  Consciousness 

or  this  Browning  lyric,  not  an  indiscriminate   delight  in 
sense-experience. 

We  have  already  instanced  impersonal  like  and  dishke 
for  things,  not  people.  We  have  many  experiences,  also, 
of  satisfaction  or  dissatisfaction  with  the  relational  aspects 
of  things  or  events.  Our  outline  names  only  two  of  these  : 
enjoyment  of  the  familiar,  and  the  parallel  distaste  for  the 
repeated  or  monotonous.  Both  feelings  are  well  known : 
the  cosey  comfort  of  the  old  slippers  and  the  old  pipe,  even 
when  one  can  find  a  thousand  flaws  in  both  ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  flat,  stale  profitlessness  of  the  well-known 
scene  and  the  everyday  objects.  We,  poverty-stricken, 
English-speaking  people,  have  no  noun  by  which  to  desig- 
nate this  latter  experience  :  we  may  call  it  tediousness,  or 
may  speak  of  ourselves  as  'bored,'  but  we  are  often  driven 
to  borrow  one  of  the  adequate,  foreign  expressions,  cnniii 
or  Langzveile. 

Both  like  and  disUke  and  the  relational  emotions  are 
distinctly  egoistic,  laying  special  stress  on  myself  and  my 
condition.  Among  the  impersonal  emotions,  however,  are 
certain  highly  significant  ones  which  are  embodiments  of 
the  other  phase,  the  adoptive,  self-effacing  phase  of  con- 
sciousness. The  first  of  these,  aesthetic  enjoyment,  we 
must  consider  briefly  :  a  full  treatment  of  it  would  require 
another  volume,  and  would  lead  us  far  afield  into  domains 
of  philosophy  and  of  art.  yEsthetic  enjoyment  is  the  con- 
scious happiness  in  which  one  is  absorbed,  and,  as  it  were, 
immersed  in  the  sense-object.  No  words  describe  aesthetic 
emotion  better  than  Byron's  question  :  — • 

"Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies  a  part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I  of  them  ?  " 

For  the  aesthetic  consciousness,  as  truly  as  sympathetic 
emotion,  is  a  widening  and  deepening  of  self  —  not  a  loss 
of  self  —  by  identification  of  the  narrow  myself,  not  with 
other  selves,  but  with  sense-things :  with  wide  outlooks  or 
with  forest-depths,  with  up-springing  Gothic  arches  or  with 


The  yEsihctic  Consciousness  279 

glowing  masses  of  pictured  color,  with  thrilling  harmonies 
or  with  measured  rhythms. 

It  is  important  to  dwell  on  the  consciousness  of  self 
involved  in  the  aesthetic  feeling,  because  there  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  sense  in  which  the  aesthetic  consciousness, 
because  it  refers  to  things,  not  to  people,  is  rightly  called 
impersonal.  But  absorption  in  the  beautiful  is  never  a  loss 
of  self.  Most  of  that  with  which  one  is  usually  concerned 
is  indeed  lost:  one's  practical  needs,  one's  scientific  inter- 
ests, even  one's  loves  and  hates  and  personal  relationships 
are  vanished,  but  in  place  of  these,  there  is  the  beauty  of 
this  or  that  sense-thing,  which  one  adopts,  accepts,  receives, 
acknowledges,  widening  thus  the  confines  of  one's  person- 
ality. There  is  an  easy  introspective  verification  of  this 
account  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness.  Let  a  man  scruti- 
nize closely  the  feeling  with  which  he  emerges  from  one 
of  those  '  pauses  of  the  mind,'  in  which  he  '  contem- 
plates'  an  object  'aesthetically';  he  is  sure  to  experience 
a  curious  feeling  of  having  shrunken  away  from  a  certain 
largeness  and  inclusiveness  of  experience,  and  though  he 
has  regained  interests  which  he  had  temporarily  lacked,  he 
has  also  lost  something  from  his  very  self. 

From  this  general  description  of  aesthetic  enjoyment  as 
an  adoption  and  acknowledgment  of  sense-objects,  an 
immersion  of  oneself  in  the  external  and  objective,  we 
enter  upon  a  more  detailed  consideration  of  its  character- 
istics. The  aesthetic  consciousness  is,  first  and  foremost, 
enjoyment,  not  dissatisfaction,  a  mode  of  happiness,  never 
of  unhappiness.  This  follows  from  the  completeness  of 
absorption  in  the  aesthetic  object,  for  unhappiness  and  dis- 
satisfaction involve  always  desire,  aversion  or  resentment, 
the  effort  to  escape  from  one's  environment.  This  means, 
of  course,  that  the  aesthetic  experience  is  a  consciousness 
always  of  the  beautiful,  never  of  the  ugly.  Ugliness  is 
not,  therefore,  a  term  of  aesthetics :  it  is  not  a  positive  term 
at  all,  but  a  reflective  description  of  an  object  as  unses- 
thetic,  an  epithet  which  can  only  be  applied  after  one  has 


28o  The  Esthetic  Consciousness 

had  experience  of  the  beautiful. ^  The  aesthetic  conscious- 
ness, furthermore,  involves  a  high  degree  of  attention,  the 
clear,  or  vivid,  experience,  which  is  narrowed,  prolonged 
and  readily  revivable.  This,  indeed,  is  definitely  implied  in 
the  description  of  aesthetic  pleasure  as  absorption  of  one- 
self in  the  sense-object.  Now  this  conception  of  aes- 
thetic emotion,  as  involving  attention,  helps  us  account  for 
the  things  which  people  call  beautiful.  It  is  an  open  ques- 
tion whether  simple  experiences,  such  as  single  colors  or 
tones,  have  any  beauty  ;  but  if  we  do  attribute  beauty  to 
them,  it  is  certainly  by  virtue  of  their  intensity  or  distinct- 
ness :  as  when  we  admire  the  bright  color  or  the  distinct 
sound.  But  intense  and  distinct  experiences  are,  as  we 
know,  ready  objects  of  attention,  so  that  it  is  fair  to  conclude 
that  sensational  experiences  are  beautiful,  if  ever,  when 
easily  attended  to.^  A  careful  scrutiny  of  complex  objects 
of  beauty  shows  that  they,  too,  are  easily  attended  to,  though 
for  another  reason.  The  sense-object  which  is  beautiful  is 
always  a  whole  of  sense-experience,  and  both  by  the  unity 
in  which  its  details  are  united,  and  by  the  individuality  of 
the  combination,  it  is  readily  attended  to.  Every  beautiful 
object  is  an  illustration  of  the  principle.  Thus,  curves  are 
beautiful,  and  broken  lines  are  ugly,  in  part  because  the 
curve  is  a  whole,  readily  apprehended,  whereas  the  broken 
line  is  a  series  of  unessentially  connected  sections,  with 
difficulty  grasped  as  a  whole ;  and  rhythm  is  beautiful 
because  it  binds  into  a  whole,  expectantly  apprehended, 
the  successive  movements,  tones  or  words  of  the  dance, 
the  melody,  or  the  poem. 

The  more  complex  the  parts  which  are  bound  together, 
if  only  the  complexity  does  not  overstrain  the  attention, 
the  more  organic  the  unity  and  the  greater  the  beauty. 

1  Cf.  George  Santayana,  "The  Sense  of  Beauty,"  §  ii,  for  a  statement 
of  this  theory  of  the  nature  of  ugliness.  The  opposite  view  is  held  by  many 
writers. 

'^  Cf.  Ward,  "  Psychology,"  Encyclopadia  Britannica,  9th  ed.,  Vol.  XX., 
p.  70. 


The  ^Esthetic  Consciousness  281 

This  explains  the  thrilling  beauty  of  Swinburne's  meters 
and  certain  of  Browning's.  One  need  not  understand  the 
words  to  have  one's  heart  beat  high  to  such  rhythms  as 
that  of  Swinburne  :  — 

"  Bind  on  thy  sandals,  O  thou  most  fleet, 
Over  the  splendor  and  speed  of  thy  feet ;  " 


or  of  Goethe  :  — 


"  Es  selling  ineiii  Hers 
Gesehwind  zii  Pferde.'''' 


By  this  principle,  also,  we  may  explain  what  we  call  the 
development  of  our  aesthetic  sense.  To  a  child,  the 
couplet  or  the  quatrain  may  well  give  more  aesthetic 
pleasure  than  the  sonnet,  precisely  because  he  can  attend 
to  the  one  and  not  to  the  other,  as  harmonious  whole. 

Our  consciousness  of  the  beautiful  is,  in  the  second  place, 
direct  and  immediate,  not  reflective  and  associative ;  that 
is,  the  beautiful  is  always  an  object  of  direct  and  immedi- 
ate perception.  An  object  may  gain  interest,  significance 
and  value,  but  never  beauty,  by  its  suggestiveness.  This 
is  an  important  point,  for  sentimental  moralists  and  even 
sober  psychologists  are  constantly  contrasting  what  is 
called  the  beauty  of  expression,  or  significance,  with  imme- 
diately apprehended  beauty.  We  are  told,  for  instance, 
that  the  gnarled,  misshapen  hands  of  a  devoted  mother 
are  '  beautiful '  because  they  have  toiled  for  her  children, 
or  that  an  ill-proportioned,  wooden  building  is  beautiful 
because  it  is  a  house  of  worship.  These  are  misleading 
metaphors  :  nothing  can  be  beautiful  which  is  not  a  direct 
and  immediate  object  of  sense-perception  ;  the  hands  are 
ugly,  though  the  mother's  life  is  an  inspiration  ;  the  church 
is  hideous,  though  it  serves  a  high  ideal.  Nothing  is  gained, 
indeed,  by  confusing  every  value  with  the  distinct  and  well- 
defined  value  of  the  beautiful.  What  we  mean  by  aesthetic 
consciousness  is  a  direct  experience;  and,  as  Munsterberg 


282  The  /Esthetic  Consciousness 

teaches,^  only  the  unconnected,  the  '  isolated  fact  in  its 
singleness,'  can  be  beautiful  —  can  bring  about,  in  other 
words,  the  complete  absorption  of  self  in  sense-object. 

The  third  feature  of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  has 
already  been  suggested ;  it  is  a  characteristic  emphasized 
by  Kant,  by  Schiller,  by  Schopenhauer,  and  indeed,  by  all 
the  great  teachers  :  the  entire  disinterestedness  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  This  means  that  the  contrast  between  one  self 
and  other  selves  is  all  but  vanished  in  the  aesthetic  experi- 
ence, and  that  one  becomes,  as  Schopenhauer  says,  'a 
world-eye,'  a  perceiving  and  enjoying,  not  a  grasping  or  a 
holding  self.  To  enjoy  a  bronze  or  a  painting  because  it 
is  mine,  or  to  delight  in  a  view  because  it  stretches  out 
before  my  window,  is  thus  an  utterly  unaesthetic  experience, 
for  the  sense  of  beauty  admits  no  joy  in  possession,  and 
beauty  does  not  belong  to  any  individual.  This  disin- 
terestedness of  the  aesthetic  consciousness  explains  the 
mistaken  opposition,  sometimes  made,  of  the  '  beautiful ' 
to  the  '  useful'  It  is  quite  incorrect  to  hold  that  a  useful 
object  may  not  also  be  beautiful :  and,  indeed,  men  like 
Morris  and  Ruskin  have  fairly  converted  even  this  Philis- 
tine age  to  the  possibility  of  welding  together  use  and 
beauty,  in  the  practical  objects  of  everyday  life,  in  build- 
ings, furnishings  and  utensils.  But  it  is  true  that  one's 
consciousness  of  the  utility  banishes,  for  the  time  being, 
one's  sense  of  the  beauty,  so  that  one  cannot,  at  one  and 
the  same  moment,  appreciate  the  convenience  of  the  Morris 
chair  and  the  severe  simplicity  of  its  lines,  or  reahze  the 
beauty  of  a  sky-line  and  the  durability  of  a  roof.  While, 
therefore,  objectively  regarded,  the  union  of  beauty  and 
utility  is  the  end  of  all  the  arts  and  crafts,  subjectively 
considered,  the  consciousness  of  utility  cannot  be  fused 
with  the  sense  of  beauty,  precisely  because  the  aesthetic 
sense  demands  the  subordination  of  narrow,  personal  ends. 

By  this  same  principle,  also,  we  may  explain  the  common 

1  "  Psychology  and  Life,"  p.  201. 


Impersonal  Emotion  283 

distinction  of  aesthetic  from  unnesthetic  sense-experiences. 
The  organic  sensations,  such  as  satisfied  hunger  and  thirst, 
bodily  warmth,  active  exercise,  —  all  these  are  pleasant  but 
they  are  not  'esthetic'  pleasures,  because  they  are,  of  neces- 
sity, sharply  individualized  and  referred  to  my  particular 
self.  Tastes,  also,  and  smells,  are  experiences  not  readily 
objectified,  but  serving  narrow  and  definite  personal  ends 
of  bodily  sustenance.  They  are  seldom,  therefore,  artisti- 
cally treated  as  objects  of  aesthetic  pleasure.  For  the  beau- 
tiful object  is  cut  off  as  utterly  from  my  narrow  needs  and 
interests  as  from  the  associative  connection  with  other  facts  ; 
in  the  v^ords  of  Schopenhauer,  it  is  '  neither  pressed  nor 
forced  to  our  needs  nor  battled  against  and  conquered  by 
other  external  things.'  Thus  the  world  of  beauty  narrows 
to  include  one  self,  absorbed  in  one  object  of  beauty. 

Two  other  forms  of  altruistic  or  adoptive  impersonal 
emotion  must  be  mentioned.  The  first  of  these  is  the  en- 
joyment of  logical  unity,  often  discussed  under  the  name 
'intellectual  sentiment.'  Every  student  knows  the  feehng, 
and  counts  among  the  most  real  of  his  emotional  experi- 
ences the  satisfied  contemplation  of  an  achieved  unity  in 
scientific  classification  or  in  philosophical  system.  The 
feeling  should  be  sharply  distinguished  from  another  char- 
acteristic pleasure  of  the  student,  the  excitement  of  the 
intellectual  chase,  the  enjoyment  of  activity  in  even  un- 
rewarded search.  The  feeling  which  we  are  now  describ- 
ing follows  upon  this  tormenting  pleasure  of  the  chase,  as 
achievement  follows  upon  endeavor.  It  clearly  resembles 
aesthetic  emotion,  not  only  in  its  absorption  and  disinterest- 
edness, but  also  in  the  characteristic  harmony,  or  unity,  of 
the  object  of  delight.  For  this  reason,  the  enjoyment  of 
logical  unity  is  sometimes  reckoned  as  itself  an  aesthetic  ex- 
perience. The  writer  of  this  book,  however,  approves  the 
ordinary  usage  which  restricts  the  application  of  the  term 
'beautiful'  to  sense-objects.  This  limitation,  of  course, 
forbids  the  treatment  of  enjoyment  of  logical  unity  as  a 
form  of  aesthetic  pleasure. 


284  -The  '  Sense  of  Hn77ior ' 

We  shall,  finally,  therefore,  touch  upon  a  third  form  of 
impersonal  and  adoptive  emotion :  the  sense  of  humor. 
For  our  present  purpose,  it  is  most  important  to  dwell  upon 
the  self-absorbing,  externalizing  nature  of  the  experience. 
Just  as  we  are  said  to  forget  ourselves  in  our  apprehension 
of  the  beautiful,  so  also  we  forget  ourselves,  that  is,  our 
narrow  individuality,  our  special  interests  and  purposes,  in 
our  appreciation  of  the  humor  of  a  situation.  What  Pro- 
fessor Santayana  has  well  said  of  the  aesthetic  conscious- 
ness we  may  equally  apply  to  the  saving  sense  of  humor : 
there  is  hardly  a  "  situation  so  terrible  that  it  may  not  be 
relieved  by  the  momentary  pause  of  the  mind  to  contem- 
plate it  aesthetically,"  or  humorously.  It  is  because  we 
have  such  need  of  pauses,  in  the  arduous  business  of 
living,  that  we  value  the  sense  of  humor  so  highly,  and 
for  this  same  reason  we  find  the  most  estimable  people,  if 
devoid  of  humor,  so  inexpressibly  tiresome. 

There  are  as  many  theories  of  the  comic  as  of  the  beau- 
tiful, but  virtually  all  of  them  agree  in  defining  the  sense 
of  humor  as  enjoyment  of  an  unessential  incongruity. 
Narrowly  scrutinized,  every  '  funny '  scene,  every  witty 
remark,  every  humorous  situation,  reveals  itself  as  an  in- 
congruity. The  incongruity  between  one's  ordinary  free- 
dom of  movement  and  the  mechanical  jerks  of  a  Jarley 
waxwork  figure  make  the  comedy  of  that  situation ;  and 
in  the  incongruity  between  the  two  clear  meanings  of  the 
word  '  illustration,'  lurks  the  wit  of  that  celebrated  intro- 
duction of  Freeman,  as  '  the  historian  who  had  most  brill- 
iantly illustrated  the  barbarous  manners  of  our  ancestors.' 

This  incongruity  must  be,  as  has  been  said,  an  unessen- 
tial one,  else  the  mood  of  the  observer  changes  from  hap- 
piness to  unhappiness,  and  the  comic  becomes  the  pathetic. 
A  fall  on  the  ice  which  seemed  to  offer  only  a  ludicrous 
contrast,  between  the  dignity  and  grace  of  the  man  erect 
and  the  ungainly  attitude  of  the  falling  figure,  ceases  utterly 
to  be  funny  when  it  is  seen  to  entail  some  physical  injury ; 
and  wit  which  burns  and  sears  is  not  amusing  to  its  victim. 


Bodily  Changes  in  Emotion  285 

The  study  of  these  typical  impersonal  emotions  of  the 
altruistic  type  —  aesthetic  delight,  enjoyment  of  intellectual 
harmony  and  the  sense  of  humor  —  leads  us  to  reafifirm 
the  conclusion  of  our  study  of  sympathy,  the  adoptive  per- 
sonal emotion.  It  shows  us  the  significance  of  a  widened 
personality  and  the  importance  of  a  relaxed  hold  on  the 
things  which  concern  only  the  narrow  '  myself '  ;  it  teaches 
us  the  value  of  self-objectivation  in  the  apprehension  of 
beauty,  of  logical  unity  and  of  harmony,  three  highways 
of  escape  from  the  petty  tyrannies  of  life. 

Ill 

We  have  postponed  to  the  end  of  this  chapter  the  study 
both  of  the  feelings  of  bodily  change,  included  in  emotion, 
and  that  of  the  physiological  basis  of  emotion,  for  both 
subjects  are  closely  related  and  are  full  of  detail  and  of 
difficulty.  The  emotion  includes,  as  we  have  seen,  two 
significant  features:  the  affection  or  affections,  and  the 
feeUngs  due  to  bodily  change.  The  affections  are  of  two 
sorts :  first,  the  immediate  affection,  which  is  not  always 
present  in  emotion,  and  second,  the  affection  —  condi- 
tioned, as  we  shall  see,  by  the  bodily  changes  —  which  is 
characteristic  of  emotion  and  essential  to  it.  For  example  : 
I  may  dislike  a  very  pretty  woman.  A  glimpse  of  her  oc- 
casions therefore  an  immediate  feehng  of  pleasantness,  but 
my  dislike  of  her  includes  a  feeling  of  unpleasantness,  and 
this  unpleasantness  is  the  essential  affection  in  the  dislike. 

The  bodily  changes,  involved  by  emotion,  are  also  of  two 
main  classes.  They  are  :  first,  internal  changes,  especially 
changes  of  heart-beat  and  arterial  pressure,  directly  con- 
cerned in  the  circulation  of  the  blood ;  and  second,  the 
movements  of  head,  limbs  and  trunk,  including  respiratory 
movements.  An  emotion  of  fear,  for  example,  includes 
the  consciousness  of  quickened  heart-beat,  and  may  in- 
clude a  reaUzation  of  one's  trembUng  limbs  ;  the  emotion 
of  joy  includes  the  sensation  of  bodily  warmth,  and  may 


286  Bodily  Conditions  of  Affection 

include  the  consciousness  of  one's  involuntary  gesticula- 
tions of  delight.     We  must  lay  stress  on  the  fact  that  the 
feelings  due  to  the  internal  changes,  the  consciousness  of 
heart-beat,  of  warmth,  of  cold  and  the  like,  are  probably 
always  a  part,  even  if  an  unemphasized  part,  of  emotion  ; 
whereas  the  feelings  of  external  changes,  of  altered  breath- 
ing or  of  actual  movements  of  the  body,  are  frequent,  but 
probably   not   invariable,    constituents    of    emotion.      My 
amusement,  for  example,  often  includes  my  consciousness 
of  my  smile,  yet  I  may  be  amused  without  smiling ;  and 
though  the  realization  of  my  dancing  feet  may  be  part  of 
my  emotion  of  delight,  I  may  yet  be  happy  without  dancing. 
We  have  now  to  assign  a  physiological  condition  for  each 
of  the  distinguishing  factors  of  emotion  —  for  both  sorts  of 
affection,  and  for  both  forms  of  the  consciousness  of  bodily 
change.     Affection  has  already  been  explained, ^  as    con- 
ditioned by  the  more  than  adequate  or  the  inadequate  reac- 
tion of  the  frontal  lobes  of  the  brain,  directly  stimulated  by 
radiation  of  nerve  impulse,  through  connecting  fibres,  from 
the  region  about  the  fissure  of  Rolando,  the  brain-centre 
of  bodily  movements  and  feelings.     The  series  of  bodily 
changes   is   probably  the   following:    when   the   nervous 
end-organs  are  excited  by  any  external  object,  the  excita- 
tion is  conveyed  by  ingoing  nerves  to  sensory  cells  of  the 
brain.     The  excitation  of  these  sensory  cells,  in  whatever 
part  of  the  brain  they  are,  probably  always  spreads  to  the 
brain-centre  of  bodily  feelings  and  movements,  that  is,  to 
the  region  forward  and  back  of  the  fissure  of  Rolando,  and 
there  excites  motor  cells.     The   excitation    of   the  motor 
cells  of  the  Rolandic  region  may  be  carried  to  the  frontal 
lobes,  whose  reaction  occasions  pleasantness  and  unpleas- 
antness.   But  this  affection  —  conditioned  by  the  immediate 
spread   of   the    nerve-excitation    from    some   brain-centre, 
through  the  Rolandic  area,  to  the  frontal  lobes  —  is  not,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  sort  of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness 

1  Cf.  Chapter  IX.,  pp.  117  scq. 


Circulatory  Changes  in  Emotion  287 

especially  characteristic  of  the  emotion.     To  explain  this 
second,  essential  affection,  we  must  consider  that  the  exci- 
tation of  these  motor  cells,  of  the  Rolandic  area,  is  not  only 
often  carried  forward,  but  is  probably  always  carried  down- 
ward.   It  is  carried  in  the  first  place  to  lower  brain-centres 
in  the  vicdnlla  oblongata,  which  control  the  unstripcd  mus- 
cular coatings  of  inner  organs  of  the  body,  such  as  blood- 
vessels, heart  and  intestines.    In  this  way,  internal  changes 
are  brought  about,  and  among  these,  the  circulatory  changes 
are  most  important :  the  heart-beat  and  pulses  are  checked 
or  increased,  and  the  arteries  (not  the  big  ones  near  the 
heart,  but  the  smaller,  thin-walled  vessels  in  outlying  parts 
of  the  body),  are  dilated  or  constricted,  thus  occasioning 
either  a  flush  and  rising  temperature  or  pallor  and  chilli- 
ness.    The   exclamation  of   an    observant   old   man,  who 
figures  in  a  recent  novel,  suggests  that  the  significance 
of  these  changes  in  circulation  is  commonly  recognized. 
"Passions,"  the  old  man  complains,  "are  bred  out  nowa- 
days.    I  don't  believe  the  next  generation  will  be  shook 
to  the  heart  with  the  same  gusts  and  storms  as  the  last. 
We  think  smaller  thoughts  and  feel  smaller  sentiments ; 
we're  too  careful  of  our  skins  to  trust  the  giant  passions ; 
our  hearts  don't  pump  the  same  great  flood  of  hot  blood." 
These  internal  bodily  changes  might  conceivably  be  un- 
conscious, but  as  a  matter  of  fact  some  of  them,  at  least, 
are  felt  in   our  emotional  states.     This  consciousness  of 
bodily  change  is  brought  about  in  somewhat  the  following 
way.     The  internal  changes,  such  as  altered  heart-beat  or 
pulse,  and  the  skin-changes,  occasioned  by  expanding  and 
contracting  blood-vessels,  stimulate  the  end-organs  of  press- 
ure, warmth  and  cold,  in  different  parts  of  the  body;  the 
excitation  of  these  end-organs  is  carried  upward  by  ingoing 
nerves  to  the  sensory  cells  of  the  bodily-feeling-and-move- 
ment-centre  (the  Rolandic  area)  ;    and  the  excitation  of 
these    sensory  cells   conditions   those   sensations,   due   to 
heart-beat,  pulse  and  bodily  temperature,  which  are  always 
present  in  emotional  experience. 


288  External  Movements  in  E^notion 

Two  constituents  of  emotion  have  thus  been  explained  : 
the  immediate  affection  and  the  feelings  of  internal  bodily 
changes.  We  are  ready  now  to  account  for  the  affection 
characteristic  of  emotion.  The  excitation  (due  to  the  in- 
ternal bodily  changes)  of  sensory  cells  in  the  Rolandic  area, 
of  course,  spreads  to  the  neighboring  motor  cells,  and  once 
more  is  carried  from  them  to  the  frontal  lobes,  which  react 
vigorously  or  inadequately,  thus  conditioning  pleasantness 
or  unpleasantness. 

But  we  must  not  forget  that  bodily  movements  of  a  sec- 
ond sort  are  characteristic  of  emotional  states.  These  are 
the  external  movements  of  face,  trunk,  or  limbs  —  a  smile, 
for  example,  a  laugh  (which  is  a  respiratory  movement)  or 
a  clenching  of  the  hands.  These  movements  are  immedi- 
ately due  to  the  increased  or  lessened  contraction  of  the 
striped,  or  skeletal,  muscles  attached  to  the  bones  of  the 
body.  And  these  muscular  changes  are  occasioned  in  one 
of  two  ways,  either  directly  by  excitation  of  a  second  set 
of  fibres  leading  downward  from  the  Rolandic  area  of  the 
brain,  or  else  indirectly  by  the  changes  in  the  blood-supply 
whose  origin  has  just  been  described.^  Sometimes,  as  has 
been  said,  these  external  bodily  movements  stimulate  sur- 
face end-organs  of  pressure,  ingoing  nerves  and  sensory 
brain-cells,  and  one  is  then  conscious  of  them ;  but  often 
these  external  movements  are  unconscious. 

An  emotion  is  probably  therefore  conditioned  by  the 
following  cerebral  phenomena :  often,  in  the  first  place,  by 
a  reaction  of  the  frontal  lobes  through  excitation  from  any 
sense-centre,  by  way  of  Rolandic  motor  cells ;  invariably, 
second,  by  the  functioning  of  Rolandic  sense-cells,  due  to 
internal  bodily  changes ;  always,  third,  by  an  excitation  of 
the  frontal  lobes,  due  to  the  spread  of  excitation  from  the 
Rolandic  sense-cells,  by  way  of  motor  cells  ;  and  frequently, 
in  the  fourth  place,  though  not  invariably,  by  the  function- 
ing of  a  second  set  of  Rolandic  sense-cells,  excited  by  the 
external  bodily  movements  of  head,  chest  and  limbs.     The 

1  Cf,  Lange,  "  Uber  Gemiiths  bewegungen,"  pp.  41  seq.,  for  defence  of  the 
latter  view. 


Bodily 


Changes 


in  Emotion 


289 


diagram 


which  follows,  takes  account  of  all  these  facts 
and  of  their  temporal  relation,  but  does  not  represent  the 
relations  between  the  psychic  facts  :  — 


'u-n  iS 

0  o-« 

Q_0 

CO 

J 

<   .  u 

a.  -Z  a. 

K 

e  .5  Id 

W 

[u  u:  -T* 
K  K  ? 

^ 

Id       tn 

0 

U 

hJ 

o 


III 
a, 


O 


296  Bodily   Changes  in  Joy 

This  account  will  be  clearer,  if  we  work  it  out  in  more 
detail  for  typical  emotions.  We  may  select  as  illustration 
the  bodily  conditions  of  the  joy,  with  which  a  man  hears 
that  his  dearest  friend,  who  has  been  for  five  years  absent, 
will  reach  him  in  an  hour.  Of  course,  no  immediate  affec- 
tion of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  accompanies  the 
reading  of  the  telegram  which  brings  the  news ;  for  the 
words  in  themselves  are  neither  agreeable  nor  disagree- 
able.    The  bodily  conditions  of  the  joy  are,  therefore :  — 

First,  {a)  the  spread  of  excitations  from  the  sense- 
centres,  excited  by  reading  the  words,  to  motor  cells  in  the 
Rolandic  area  ;  and  {b)  the  excitation  of  downward,  motor 
fibres. 

Second,  stronger  heart-beat  and  pulse,  and  dilation  of 
the  smaller  arteries  which  results  in  bodily  warmth  and  in 
reddening  of  the  skin. 

Third,  increased  muscular  contraction,  manifested  not 
only  by  movements  of  the  limbs  —  by  hand-clappings  and 
leaps  of  delight  —  but  by  the  rounded  face  and  the  smiling 
lips,  due  to  contraction  of  the  facial  muscles. 

Fourth,  {a)  excitation  of  end-organs  of  pressure,  occa- 
sioned by  the  internal  bodily  movements  which  always 
occur,  and  by  the  external  muscular  contractions  when 
they  occur  ;  and  {b^  the  upward  spread  of  these  excitations 
to  sense-cells  of  the  Rolandic  area.  The  excitation  of  one 
group  of  these  sense-cells  occasions  the  feelings  of  internal 
warmth  and  pressure,  which  are  always  a  part  of  the  emo- 
tion of  joy ;  and  the  excitation  of  another  group  of  these 
cells,  when  it  occurs,  conditions  the  feelings  of  external 
movement  which  often  form  a  part  of  'joy.' 

Fifth,  the  spread  of  excitations  from  these  Rolandic 
sense-cells,  by  way  of  motor  cells,  to  the  frontal  lobes,  fol- 
lowed by  the  adequate  excitation  of  frontal-lobe  cells. 
This  vigorous  excitation  may  be  explained,  at  least  in  part, 
in  the  following  manner :  the  stronger  heart-beat,  charac- 
teristic of  joy,  pumps  more  blood  from  the  heart,  and  all 
parts  of  the  body,  including  the  brain,  are  therefore  rela- 


Bodily   Changes  in   Grief  29 1 

tively  well  nourished.  Furthermore,  the  deep  breathing 
of  the  joyful  state  results  in  the  oxidation  of  the  blood,  and 
consequently  in  the  better  nourishment  of  all  parts  of  the 
body. 

The  bodily  conditions  of  the  grief,  with  which  one  hears 
that  one's  friend  has  perished  at  sea,  are,  on  the  other 
hand  :  — 

First,  as  before,  spread  of  excitation  from  sense-centres 
to  Rolandic  motor  cells  and  excitation  of  downward  fibres. 

Second,  weaker  heart-beat  and  pulse,  and  contraction  of 
the  walls  of  the  arteries.  The  change  in  heart-beat  and 
in  pulse  stimulates  pressure  end-organs ;  the  change  in 
arterial  pressure  results  in  bodily  chill ;  and  pallor  natu- 
rally follows.  (The  constriction  of  blood-vessels  in  the 
lungs  and  the  consequent  insufificient  blood-supply  may 
also  stimulate  end-organs,  whose  excitation  indirectly  con- 
ditions feelings  of  suffocation  and  oppression.  )i 

Third,  lessened  contraction  of  the  voluntary  muscles : 
shallow  breathing,  drooping  eyelids  and  mouth,  slow  and 
heavy  movements,  bowed  head,  dragging  step,  hanging 
arms  and  weakened  voice. 

Fourth,  excitation  of  end-organs  of  pressure,  and  of  sen- 
sory cells  in  the  Rolandic  area. 

Fifth,  the  spread  of  excitations  from  these  Rolandic 
sense-cells  to  the  frontal  lobes,  followed  by  the  feeble  exci- 
tation of  the  cells  in  the  frontal  lobes.  This  inadequate 
excitation  may  be  explained,  in  part,  by  the  weaker  heart- 
beat which  pumps  out  less  blood  into  the  body,  and  by  the 
shallow  breathing  which  suppHes  insufificient  oxygen. 

Every  emotion  is  some  form  of  happiness  or  of  unhappi- 
ness,  or  a  mixture  of  the  two,  hence  an  account  of  the  phys- 
iological conditions  and  accompaniments  of  any  given 
emotion  must  follow,  in  the  main,  the  account  of  the  con- 
ditions of  joy  and  of  sorrow.  Hope,  for  example,  is 
conditioned  and  accompanied  by  the  bodily  changes  char- 

1  Cf.  Lange,  op.  at.,  p.  i6. 


292         Bodily  Changes  in  Fear  and  Hate 

acteristic  of  joy,  only  these  are  less  permanent  and  more 
changeable.  The  bodily  conditions  and  correlates  of  fear 
are  like  those  of  sorrow,  but  all  the  internal  organs,  and  not 
—  as  in  sorrow  —  only  or  chiefly  the  heart  and  the  blood- 
vessels, are  contracted.^  The  bodily  changes  characteristic 
of  fear  are,  moreover,  less  coordinated  and  stable,  more 
convulsive  and  also  more  intense  than  those  of  grief. 
Ordinary  language,  as  Lange  has  shown,  constantly  dis- 
closes this  difference:  one  is  'bowed  down  by  grief,'  but 
'  paralyzed  '  or  '  turned  to  stone  '  by  fear,  and  one  is  '  silent ' 
in  sorrow  but  '  dumb  '  with  fear.  And,  finally,  fear  —  more 
often  than  sorrow  —  is  followed  by  strong  muscular  con- 
tractions—  those,  for  example,  involved  in  flight. 

Hate  is  another  emotion  of  unhappiness,  and  has  the 
fundamental  physiological  correlates  of  unpleasant  emo- 
tion :  the  pallor,  recognized  by  the  proverbial  expression 
'  white  with  rage,'  and  the  characteristic  slo\yness  of  move- 
ment. Anger  is,  on  the  contrary,  in  the  writer's  opinion, 
a  mixed  emotion,  a  compound  of  pleasurable  and  unpleas- 
ant experience,  in  which  one's  dissatisfaction  with  the 
object  of  one's  wrath  is  supplemented  by  a  distinct  enjoy- 
ment of  one's  own  excitement.  The  flush  of  anger  is  a 
correlate  of  this  pleasurable  factor  of  emotion  ;  and  the 
active  movements  of  passion  may  be  explained  in  the  same 
way  or  —  more  reasonably,  perhaps  —  as  a  reaction  follow- 
ing the  emotion. 

Two  minor  considerations  may  be  urged,  in  corrobora- 
tion of  this  general  theory  of  the  physiological  basis  of 
emotion.  It  satisfactorily  explains  the  fact  that  pleasant 
experiences  beget  still  other  pleasures,  that  pleasure,  in 
other  words,  is  self-propagating.  For  pleasantness  has 
been  found  to  depend  on  the  reaction  of  well-nourished 
cerebral  cells,  including  Rolandic  motor  cells,  and  nutrition 
is  due  to  plentiful  blood-supply,  and  a  good  circulation 
of  the  blood  depends,  in  turn,  on  vigorous  pumpings  of  the 

1  Cf.  I.aiige,  op.  cit.,  pp.  22  seq. 


Bodily  Changes  in  Eniotioji  293 

heart,  and  these,  as  we  have  noted,  are  the  result  of  the 
reaction  of  well-nourished  motor  brain-cells.  These  physio- 
logical processes,  therefore,  form  a  perfect  circle,  the 
pleasure  of  one  moment  being  accompanied  by  cerebral 
processes,  which  occasion  those  circulatory  changes  that 
supply  the  cells  of  the  brain  with  the  nutrition,  required 
for  the  pleasure-bringing  reaction  of  a  later  moment. 

Our  theory,  in  the  second  place,  can  readily  explain  the 
fact,  that  both  deep  breathing  and  vigorous  movements  of 
the  limbs,  are  usual  accompaniments  of  joy.  For  it  is 
known  that  venosity  of  the  blood,  supplying  the  centre  of 
reflex  movements  in  the  medulla,  is  the  main  cause  of 
deep  breathing ;  and  this  venosity  of  the  blood  is  occa- 
sioned by  its  having  lost  oxygen  through  vigorous  move- 
ments of  other  muscles.  Thus,  deep  respiration  and  strong 
movements  of  the  voluntary  muscles,  both  of  which,  on  our 
theory,  are  correlates  of  pleasant  emotion,  are  related 
phenomena. 

\'Vc  must  not  fail  to  admit  that  this  account  of  physiolog- 
ical conditions  lacks  complete  and  unambiguous  experi- 
mental verification,  by  either  physiologist  or  psychologist. 
The  difficulties  of  experiments  on  emotional  conditions  are 
easily  understood.  It  is  very  hard,  in  the  first  place, 
to  bring  about  any  genuine  emotion  under  laboratory 
conditions  —  to  rouse  keen  joy  or  pronounced  grief  while 
one  is  encased  in  apparatus  destined  to  measure  the 
bodily  processes.  Furthermore,  the  frequent  complexity 
of  affective  experience  makes  it  all  but  impossible  to  dis- 
tinguish the  conditions  of  pleasurable  feeling  from  those 
of  discomfort.  Experimental  conditions,  for  example, 
designed  to  bring  about  enjoyment,  may  arouse  the  sub- 
ject's apprehension  by  their  very  unfamiliarity.  And, 
finally,  those  bodily  changes  which  are  the  most  constant 
conditions  of  emotion,  the  excitation  of  brain-cells  and  the 
altered  pressure  of  blood  in  the  arteries,  are  either,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  brain  changes,  unsusceptible  of  direct  ex- 
amination or   else,  as  in   the  case  of  the  blood  pressure, 


294  So-called  Expressions  of  Emotion 

they  are  registered  with  difficulty  and  inexactness  by  our 
available  apparatus. 

In  default  of  conclusive  experiment,  and  in  considera- 
tion of  the  fact  that  other  accounts  of  the  physiology  of 
emotion  have  been  proposed,  it  is  necessary  to  supplement 
what  has  been  said  by  a  brief  consideration  of  two  of 
these  other  theories.  Such  of  them  as  regard  the  physi- 
ology of  the  affections  only  have  already  been  discussed, ^ 
and  need  not  be  reviewed.  We  have,  therefore,  in  the 
main,  to  consider  alternative  theories  of  the  relation  of 
emotion  to  bodily  changes  :  — 

The  first  of  these  is  the  conventional  theory.  It  teaches 
that  the  bodily  changes  are  '  expressions  of  the  emotion,' 
in  other  words,  caused  by  it ;  that  is  to  say,  that  the  emo- 
tion is  felt  before  the  occurrence  of  the  bodily  phenomena, 
and  that  it  brings  them  about  as  its  effects  or  consequents. 
According  to  this  view,  one  is  first  afraid,  and  then  one 
grows  pale  and  trembles;  one  is  first  jubilant,  and  then 
one  flushes  and  claps  one's  hands.  This  traditional 
theory  is  disproved  in  many  ways.  It  is  challenged,  first 
of  all,  by  our  introspective  discovery  that  a  consciousness 
of  these  bodily  changes  is  part  of  the  emotion.  Since  the 
consciousness  of  my  heart-standing-still  and  of  my  chilly 
hands  is  part  of  the  total  experience  which  I  call  '  being 
afraid,'  the  altered  heart-beat  and  the  bodily  temperature 
cannot  be  caused  by  my  fear,  but  must  rather  be  partial 
conditions  of  it ;  and  in  the  same  way,  my  quickened  pulse 
and  my  flushed  face  must  be  the  condition  of  the  feel- 
ings of  pulse-beat  and  of  warmth,  which  are  part  of  my 

joy- 

Two  further  facts,  though  they  do  not  suffice  to  prove 
that  the  bodily  changes  are  never  expressions  of  emotion, 
none  the  less  show  definitely  that  the  bodily  changes  are 
not  invariably  expressions  of  emotion.     The  first  of  these 

I  Cf.  Chapter  IX.,  p.  I20  seq. 


Emotion  Following  on  Bodily  Change      295 

facts  has  been  emphasized  by  James.  He  points  out  that 
it  is  often  possible  to  bring  about  an  emotion  artificially, 
by  mechanically  performing  the  actions  characteristic  of 
it.  "Whistling  to  keep  your  courage  up,"  he  says,  "is 
no  mere  figure  of  speech. ^  On  the  other  hand,  sit  all  day 
in  a  moping  posture,  sigh,  and  reply  to  everything  with  a 
dismal  voice,  and  your  melancholy  lingers.  There  is  no 
more  valuable  precept  in  moral  education  than  this,  as  all 
who  have  experience  know  :  if  we  wish  to  conquer  unde- 
sirable emotional  tendencies  in  ourselves,  we  must  assidu- 
ously, and  in  the  first  in.stance  cold-bloodedly,  go  through 
the  outzvard  movements  of  those  contrary  dispositions 
which  we  prefer  to  cultivate.  The  reward  of  persistency 
will  infallibly  come,  in  the  fading  out  of  the  sullenness  or 
depression,  and  the  advent  of  real  cheerfulness  and  kindli- 
ness in  their  stead.  Smooth  the  brow,  brighten  the  eye, 
contract  the  dorsal  rather  than  the  ventral  aspect  of  the 
frame,  and  speak  in  a  major  key,  pass  the  genial  compli- 
ment, and  your  heart  must  be  frigid  indeed  if  it  do  not 
gradually  thaw  !  "  It  is  true  that  this  is  not  a  perfectly 
certain  way  of  arousing  emotion  :  one's  courage  does  not 
always  come  at  the  bidding  of  a  whistle,  and  one's  emotion 
doesn't  inevitably  follow  the  line  of  one's  backbone.  Yet 
the  fact  that  we  are  often  able  to  arouse  emotion,  in  this 
way,  shows  that  the  usual  doctrine  is  wrong,  in  supposing 
that  bodily  attitude  or  gesture  or  organic  change  is  neces- 
sarily conditioned  by  the  emotion  and  sequent  upon  it. 

The  second  of  the  arguments,  against  the  conventional 
theory,  is  biological  in  its  character.  It  is  based  on  the 
interesting  and  probable  hypothesis,  emphasized  by  Dar- 
win ^  and  by  others,  that  these  'emotional'  bodily  changes 
are  modified  survivals  of  instinctive  reactions  of  animals 
and  of  primitive  men  to  their  environment.  The  trem- 
bUng  of  fear,  for  example,  is  regarded  as  an  instinctive 

1  Op.  cit..  Vol.  II.,  p.  463. 

2  Darwin,  "  Expression  of  the  Emotions  in  Man  and  Animals,"  Chapters 
I.-III,  and  XIV.     Cf.  Dewey,  Psychological  Revieio,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  553  seq. 


296    Instinctive  Reactions  and  Emotional  A  ttitndes 

movement  which  takes  the  place  of  actual  flight  from  the 
enemy;  the  snarl  of  hate  is  a  modified  survival  of  the  way 
in  which  an  animal  uncovers  his  teeth,  in  order  to  tear  and 
devour  his  prey,  and  the  quickened  breath  of  anger  is  a 
survival  of  the  labored  breath  of  an  animal  or  of  a  savage, 
in  a  life  and  death  contest  with  an  enemy.  But  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  primitive  reactions,  of 
which  the  so-called  expressions  of  emotion  are  probably 
indeed  survivals,  must  have  occurred  instantaneously,  and 
therefore  unconsciously,  upon  sight  or  sound  or  smell  of 
the  dangerous  or  hateful  object.  To  suppose  a  temporally 
distinct  emotion  of  fear,  between  the  antelope's  ghmpse  of 
the  tiger  and  his  flight,  is  to  assure  the  whole  race  of 
antelopes  of  destruction.  Preservation  of  animal  life,  in 
fact,  requires  what  observation  establishes,  the  instanta- 
neous sequence  of  many  bodily  movements  upon  the  per- 
cept of  the  environment.  And  this  shows  that  an  emotion 
has  not  always  preceded  the  bodily  change,  which  is 
ordinarily  named  its  expression;  and  that  if  the  move- 
ments were  primitively  instantaneous  and  unconscious, 
there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  an  emotion  is  required 
to  occasion  them. 

We  must  therefore  abandon  the  usual  way  of  talking 
about  emotion  and  its  bodily  expression.  For  we  have 
seen,  not  only  that  the  bodily  movements  bring  about  the 
brain  changes  which  condition  emotion,  but  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  bodily  movements  is  part  of  the  emotion 
itself.  One  does  not  first  feel  afraid,  then  turn  pale,  feel 
one's  heart  sink  and  one's  limbs  tremble,  but  one's  emo- 
tion of  fear  includes  always  the  consciousness  of  chill  and 
of  heart  sinking,  and  often  the  consciousness  of  wavering 
knees  and  shaky  hands.  Modern  psychologists,  led  by 
William  James  and  by  the  Danish  physiologist,  Conrad 
Lange,  have  successfully  combatted  this  traditional  theory 
of  emotional  expressions.  In  so  doing,  they  have,  how- 
ever, sometimes  fallen  into  an  opposite  error  and  have, 
first,  treated  the  bodily  changes  as  entire,  and  not  merely 


The  James  Laugc   Theory  297 

partial,  bodily  conditions  of  emotion  ;  and  then,  second, 
they  have  defined  emotion  as  nothing  more  than  this  con- 
sciousness of  bodily  changes.  (Of  course  the  second  of 
these  doctrines  is  not  a  necessary  consequence  of  the 
first,  but  the  two  are  combined  by  James  and  by  Lange.) 
"A  man's  fright,"  says  Lange,^  "is  only  a  perception  of 
the  change  in  his  body."  "  Our  feeling,"  James  declares,^ 
"of  the  bodily  changes  as  they  occur  IS  the  emotion." 
In  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  these  statements  are  clearly 
untrue  to  our  introspective  observation.  We  do,  to  be 
sure,  have  experiences,  sometimes  called  by  the  names  of 
the  emotions,  which  are  made  up  solely  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  bodily  changes.  The  best  example  is  the  experi- 
ence of  '  being  startled  '  at  a  loud  sound  from  which  one 
apprehends  no  danger.  One  certainly  is  conscious  of 
one's  trembling  at  the  banging  of  a  door  or  at  the  explo- 
sion of  an  empty  gun,  without  at  the  same  time  having 
any  other  feelings  characteristic  of  emotion.  The  writer, 
however,  appeals  rather  confidently,  to  the  reader's  intro- 
spection, for  confirmation  of  the  view  that  this  experience 
of  being  startled  is  radically  different  from  emotional  fear; 
and  that  fear,  grief,  hope  and  joy  are,  as  actually  felt, 
something  more  than  that  awareness  of  beating  heart, 
warmth  or  cold,  and  smile  or  sob,  which  unquestionably 
forms  a  part  of  them. 

The  conclusions  of  this  long  chapter  may  be  briefly  sum- 
marized as  follows :  Emotion  may  be  regarded  either 
(i)  as  complex  fact  of  consciousness,  idea,  or  (2)  as  con- 
sciousness of  oneself,  in  passive  relation  to  particularized 
people  or  things.  From  either  point  of  view,  it  is  an 
experience  which  includes  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness 
(or  both),  and  which  includes,  also,  the  consciousness  of 
bodily  phenomena,  especially  of  those  due  to  circulatory 
changes.     Its  cerebral  conditions  are  probably  the  follow- 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  51.  -  op.  lit.,  Vol.  II„  p.  449. 


298  Emotion 

ing :  first  changes  in  sensory  Rolandic  cells,  due  to  the 
bodily  movements  already  mentioned,  and  second,  the  vig- 
orous or  weak  reaction  of  the  frontal-lobe  cells.  Emotions 
are  first  classified  as  happy  or  unhappy ;  they  are  then 
best  described,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  conscious 
relation  of  one  self  to  other  selves  or  to  things,  as  personal 
or  impersonal,  and  as  imperious  or  sympathetic. 


CHAPTER   XXI 
VOLITION  AND  BELIEF.     WILL  AND  FAITH 

I 

a.    VOLITION 

In  the  first  section  of  this  chapter  the  discussion  will 
be  confined,  as  strictly  as  possible,  to  what  has  been  called 
the  idea-psychology,  that  is,  we  shall  consider  the  succes- 
sion of  ideas,  and  so  far  as  possible  keep  out  of  sight  the 
selves  who  have  the  ideas.  We  shall  thus  discuss,  not  will 
and  faith,  the  relations  of  self  to  selves,  but  volitions  and 
beliefs,  distinguishable  parts  in  the  stream  of  successive 
consciousnesses.  In  discussing  volitions,  we  shall  follow 
the  usual  division  which  distinguishes  '  the  outer '  from 
the  'inner  volition,'  the  voUtion  to  act  from  the  vohtion  to 
think,  the  vohtion  to  sign  a  cheque  or  to  fire  a  gun  or  to 
make  an  electric  contact,  from  the  volition  to  attend  to  the 
elusive  analogy,  to  remember  the  forgotten  name  or  to 
work  away  at  the  unsolved  problem.  The  outer  volition 
will  first  be  discussed. 

The  outer  volition  may  be  defined,  provisionally,  as  the 
image  of  an  action  or  of  a  result-of-action,  which  normally 
precedes  this  same  act  or  result.  In  other  words,  the  voli- 
tion is  the  image  of  an  action  or  of  a  result  of  action, 
which  is  normally  similar  and  antecedent  to  this  same 
action  or  result.  My  volition  to  sign  a  letter  is  either  an 
image  of  my  hand  moving  the  pen  or  an  image  of  my  sig- 
nature already  written,  and  my  volition  to  purchase  some- 
thing is  an  image  of  myself  in  the  act  of  handing  out  money 
or  an  image  of  my  completed  purchase  —  golf    stick   or 

Barbedienne  bronze. 

299 


300  The  Outer   Volition 

But  the  volition  is  more  than  this  bare  antecedent  image. 
Experience  furnishes  each  of  us  with  countless  examples 
of  movement  preceded  by  idea  of  movement,  which  we 
never  think  of  calling  voluntary.  I  imagine  an  operatic 
air,  for  instance,  and  am  surprised  to  find  myself  humming 
it,  or  I  listen  to  an  orchestra  and  my  waving  fan  moves 
unconsciously  to  the  rhythm  of  the  symphony.  These  are 
instances  of  movement  preceded  by  idea-of-movement,  yet 
nobody  calls  the  antecedent  images  —  of  operatic  air  or  of 
musical  rhythm  —  volitions ;  and  one  names  these  move- 
ments ideo-motor,  not  voluntary.  For,  just  as  an  image  of 
the  past  is  not  of  necessity  a  recognition,  so  an  antecedent 
image  is  not  of  necessity  a  volition  ;  and  just  as  the  image 
of  the  past  becomes  a  recognition,  only  when  it  is  character- 
ized by  the  factor  'familiarity,'  so  the  antecedent  image  is 
not  a  volition,  unless  it  includes  a  certain  realized  '  anticipa- 
toriness,'  which  we  may  describe  roughly  as  the  *  thought  of 
a  real  happening.'  The  volition  is  not  merely,  therefore, 
an  image  which  is  later  realized  as  having  been  anticipa- 
tory :  rather,  the  anticipation  is  part  of  the  content  itself, 
and  one  is  conscious  of  anticipation  in  being  conscious  of  a 
volition.  That  is  to  say,  the  complex  volitional  idea  in- 
cludes a  conscious  reference  to  a  real  future  linked  with 
the  present  image,  somewhat  as  the  recognition  includes  a 
reference  to  the  past. 

Before  we  treat  of  the  factors  or  elements  of  this  feeling 
of  anticipation,  we  must  emphasize  the  chief  obstacles  to 
this  analysis.  The  first  of  them  is  an  old  difficulty :  the 
impossibility  of  direct  experimental  verification,  since  the 
physiological  organs  of  the  anticipation-feeling  are  within 
the  brain.  The  second  is  the  difficulty,  which  will  grow 
more  evident  as  we  proceed,  of  keeping  consistently  to  the 
point  of  view  of  idea-psychology.  With  this  proviso,  we 
may  enumerate,  with  brief  comment,  three  features  of  the 
realized  anticipatoriness  :  — 

First  of  them  all  is  the  idea  of  the  future,  itself  highly 
complex.     For  this  idea  involves  a  consciousness  of    the 


The  '■  Feelijig  of  Auiicipatorlucss''  301 

connection  of  one  moment  with  other  moments.  Every 
moment,  past  and  present  as  well  as  future,  is  realized, 
whenever  one  is  conscious  of  it  at  all,  as  that-which-is- 
always-linked-in-two-directions,  with  its  past  and  with  its 
future.  But  the  idea  of  the  future  is  distinguished,  from 
that  of  past  and  of  present,  by  lacking  the  sense  of  irrevo- 
cableness  which  belongs  to  them.  Past  and  present  are 
felt  to  be  beyond  all  control  or  change,  whereas  the  future 
seems  to  be  relatively  undetermined. 

In  the  second  place,  the  feeling  of  anticipatoriness,  the 
characteristic  of  every  volition,  involves  the  feeling  of  real- 
ness.  This  has  already  been  defined  as  an  element  of 
consciousness,  an  irreducible  experience.  It  '  feels  like 
itself,'  and  cannot  be  described,  but  it  can  be  indicated  — 
as  distinguishing,  for  example,  my  inspection  of  Gobelin 
tapestries  from  my  image  of  the  richly  wrought  draperies 
of  Tennyson's  "  Palace  of  Art."  This  feeling  of  realness 
is  a  very  significant  part  of  every  volition.  The  object 
of  volition  is  always  a  something  to  be  realized  :  in  other 
words,  what  we  will  we  always  will  to  be  real.  We  may 
recall  any  volition  whatever  —  the  determination  to  hit  the 
bull's  eye,  to  snatch  the  Elzevir  edition  from  rival  bidders 
at  the  book  auction,  or  to  resist  a  temptation  to  speculation 
—  and  we  are  sure  to  find,  within  the  experience,  the  con- 
sciousness not  merely  of  a  future,  but  of  a  future  real.  In 
fact,  this  is  the  precise  distinction  between  the  volition  and 
the  wish.  The  wish,  no  less  than  the  volition,  refers  to  the 
future,  but  whereas  I  may  entertain  a  wish  for  a  castle  in 
Spain  or  for  a  trip  to  Mars,  I  have  volitions  for  such  objects 
only  as  seem  to  me  attainable. 

The  feeling  of  anticipatoriness  contains,  finally,  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  linkage  not  merely  of  any  present  with 
any  future,  but  of  this  particular  event  with  the  future 
reality  —  movement  or  result  of  movement.  Here  is  the 
distinction  between  the  volition  and  the  belief  of  the  future 
fact.  The  difference,  between  the  belief  that  my  market 
man  will  give  me  a  green  goose  for  my  Christmas  dinner 


302  Volition  and  Result 

and  the  intention  that  he  shall  do  it,  is  not  in  the  reference 
to  future  reality,  for  that  is  common  to  both,  but  in  the 
occurrence,  within  the  volition,  of  a  realized  linkage  of  this 
particular  image  of  mine  with  the  future  result.^  It  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  we  are  discussing,  not  a  logical  dis- 
tinction, but  an  actual  psychological  ingredient  of  the  voli- 
tion. When  we  are  conscious  of  volition,  we  are  actually 
conscious  of  a  present  image  linked  to  an  imagined  reality. 
The  consciousness  of  realness  and  of  what  we  have  called 
linkage,  or  connectedness,  are  actual  parts  of  our  experi- 
ence ;  we  are  just  as  much  conscious  of  them  as  we  are 
conscious  of  the  imagined  movement. 

We  must,  finally,  make  it  very  clear  to  ourselves  that  a 
volition  exists  quite  independently  of  any  specific  result. 
The  fact  that  I  am  prevented,  by  bodily  incapacity  or  by 
external  circumstance,  from  carrying  out  my  purpose, 
does  not  alter  the  volitional  nature  of  the  purpose  itself. 
The  volition  is  the  image  of  an  act  or  of  its  result,  in- 
cluding the  feehng  of  anticipation,  the  consciousness  of 
the  necessary  connection  of  this  definite  idea  with  a  future 
real.  Its  physiological  consequence  certainly  is  the  excita- 
tion of  motor  cells  and  of  outgoing  fibres.  But  this  ner- 
vous impulse  may  exhaust  itself  before  the  contraction  of 
any  muscles  occurs ;  or  the  contraction  may  indeed  take 
place,  but  insufficiently ;  or,  finally,  my  successful  action 
may  miss  the  needed  support  of  other  actions.  I  may 
address  the  ball  with  infinite  pains,  but  top  it  ingloriously  ; 
I  may  raise  the  pitch  of  my  voice,  but  fall  short  of  the  high 
C ;  or  I  may  sign  the  paper,  but  it  may  not  rescue  my  friend 
from  financial  ruin.  In  all  these  cases,  whatever  the  rea- 
son of  external  failure,  the  vohtion  remains  what  it  is  by 
virtue  of  its  essential  nature. 

The  inner  volition  may  be  passed  with  mere  mention. 
It  is  an  antecedent  image  involving  the  idea  of  anticipato- 
riness,  that  is,  the  consciousness  of  its  definite  connection 

1  Cf.  Munsterberg,  "Die  Willenshandlung,"  for  statement  of  a  different  view. 


Tlic  Inner   Volition  303 

with  a  future  which  is  real.  The  future  real  is,  however,  in 
this  case,  another  image,  not  a  physical  action  or  situation, 
but  a  psychic  fact.  The  volitions  to  remember  the  forgotten 
name  or  date,  to  guess  the  riddle  and  to  understand  the  work- 
ing of  the  intricate  mechanism  are  examples  of  what  we  mean 
by  inner  volitions.  Comparing  them  with  outer  volitions,  it 
is  evident  that  they  do  not  so  closely  resemble  their  results. 
The  volitional  image  of  an  act  may  be,  in  detail,  like  the  act 
as  performed ;  but  the  object  of  inner  volition  is  itself  an 
image,  and  to  have  an  anticipatory  image  of  an  image,  pre- 
cisely similar  to  it  yet  not  identical  with  it,  is  impossible. 
Inner  volitions  may,  therefore,  be  defined  as  anticipatory 
images,  including  the  idea  of  linkage  with  a  future  real,  and 
normally  followed  by  partially  similar  images,  not  by  acts. 

Both  outer  and  inner  volitions  are  further  distinguished 
as  either  simple  volitions  or  choices.  The  difference  is 
this  :  in  the  case  of  the  choice,  a  fluctuation  of  opposing 
images  precedes  the  volition  itself.  This  distinction  will  be 
illustrated  in  a  later  section  of  this  chapter ;  but  it  is  well 
to  notice  here  that  there  is  no  difference,  at  the  moment  of 
volition,  between  the  simple  volition  and  the  choice.  Each 
is  an  antecedent  image  reaHzed  as  'anticipatory.'  The 
difference  is  merely  that  the  choice  is  preceded  by  the 
restless,  shifting  fluctuation  of  alternating  images. 

It  should  be  added  that  volition  always  includes  some 
consciousness  of  bodily  movements.  In  outer  volition,  the 
movement  is  toward  the  outer  object  or  act  which  one  \yills  : 
one  finds  one's  fingers  moving  to  a  tune  or  one's  eyes  turned 
in  the  purposed  direction.  Even  in  inner  volition  —  the 
effort,  for  example,  to  solve  the  problem  or  to  remember  the 
forgotten  date  —  one  is  apt  to  wrinkle  one's  forehead,  to 
clench  one's  fingers  or  to  hold  one's  breath.  Psychologists 
have  sometimes  mistaken  this  vague  consciousness  of  bodily 
movements,  for  an  elemental  and  unanalyzable  conscious- 
ness which  they  have  called  '  conation  '  or  '  volition.'  ^ 

1  For  criticism  of  this  view,  cf.  Titchener,  "  Outline,"  §  37. 


304  T^^^^  Belief 


b.    BELIEF 

The  relation  of  the  belief  to  the  volition  has  already  been 
suffsested.  The  belief  is  an  idea  which  contains  the  feel- 
ing  of  realness,  and  which  refers  to  another  idea  or  to  an 
event.  In  these  respects,  it  is  like  the  volition,  but  it  differs 
from  the  volition  in  three  particulars  :  in  the  first  place,  it 
does  not  necessarily  contain  a  reference  to  the  future.  One 
may  believe  a  past  or  a  present  as  well  as  a  future  event, 
as  when,  for  example,  one  believes  that  the  Egyptians  fought 
at  Carchemish,  or  that  some  one  is  at  the  front  door.  In 
the  second  place,  when  the  belief  does  refer  to  the  future, 
it  lacks  the  consciousness  of  the  linkage  of  this  especial 
image  with  the  future.  My  belief  that  dinner  will  be 
served  at  seven  differs  from  my  volition  that  it  shall  be 
served,  because  the  beUef  lacks,  what  the  volition  has,  a 
sense  that  this  antecedent  image  has  a  certain  bearing  on 
the  result  which  will  follow. 

The  belief,  finally,  differs  from  the  volition  by  a  more 
positive  characteristic.  In  the  belief,  the  feeling  of  real- 
ness always  attaches  itself  to  the  relational  feeling  of  har- 
mony, or  congruence.  Nothing  seems  'real'  to  us  which 
does  not  also  seem  harmonious.  It  follows  that  beliefs, 
complex  contents  of  consciousness  containing  the  feeling 
of  realness,  are  of  the  most  varied  sort,  but  that  they  all 
agree  in  being  realized  as  congruent.  When  our  percepts 
are  called  'real,'  by  contrast  with  our  images,  they  are^ 
known  as  harmonious  both  with  other  people's  experience 
and  with  each  other  :  the  clock-tower  which  I  see  accords 
with  the  heavy  railway  station  which  supports  it,  the  cam- 
panile which  I  imagine  is  contradicted  by  every  architec- 
tural feature  of  this  New  England- town  ;  the  electric  bells 
which  I  hear  are  congruent  with  the  habitual  experiences 
of  the  city  streets,  the  strains  of  Gounod's  Sanctus  which 
I  imagine  are  unrelated  with  my  entire  surroundings. 

1  James,  "  Principles,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  300. 


The  Belief  as  '  Congruent '  305 

From  this  it  follows  that  a  given  idea  may  seem  from 
one  point  of  view  real  and  from  another  unreal,  according 
as  it  is  compared  with  one  set  of  facts  or  with  another. 
James  has  brilliantly  illustrated  this  truth  under  the  head- 
ing "The  Many  Worlds  of  Reality,"  and  has  suggested 
seven  such  worlds,^  including  the  worlds  of  sense,  of 
science,  of  abstract  truths,  of  fiction  and  of  individual 
opinion.  The  motion  of  the  sun,  which  is  real  in  the  sense- 
world,  is  thus  unreal  in  the  world  of  science ;  Goethe's 
Lotte,  though  unreal  in  the  sense-world,  is  so  real  in  the 
world  of  poetry,  that  we  sharply  contrast  with  her  Thack- 
eray's parodied  Charlotte,  whom  we  unhesitatingly  pro- 
nounce unreal.  And  these  distinctions  mean  merely,  that 
the  motion  of  the  sun  is  a  phenomenon,  congruent  with  the 
facts  of  our  everyday  observation  —  sunrises,  moons  and 
twilights — but  contradicted  by  the  Copernican  conception, 
of  our  earth  and  the  other  planets  of  our  system,  in  revolu- 
tion about  the  sun  ;  and  that  the  romantic  Lotte  is  a  figure 
congruent  with  the  life  and  environment  of  Goethe's  Wer- 
ther,  whereas  Thackeray's  prosaic  Charlotte  is  utterly 
unrelated  to  the  Werther  world  of  Goethe's  creation. 

The  belief  is,  thus,  an  idea  distinguished  both  by  the  feel- 
ing of  realness  and  by  the  feeling  of  congruence.  Beliefs, 
like  volitions,  may  be  'inner'  or  'outer,'  that  is,  they  may 
refer  to  ideas  or  to  external  events,  and  they  may  be  de- 
liberative or  simple,  that  is,  they  may  or  may  not  be  pre- 
ceded by  a  fluctuation  of  alternative  images. 

n.    Will  and  Faith ^ 

We  have  so  far  proceeded  on  the  basis  of  idea-psychology, 
that  is,  we  have  regarded  volition  and  belief,  each  as  the 
idea  of  a  particular  moment,  connected  with  the  other  ideas 
which  make  up  the  stream  of  consciousness,  and  without 

1  Op.  cJL,  Vol.  IL,  p.  292. 

2  The  discussion  which  follows  is  in  substance,  and  sometimes  verbally,  iden- 
tical with  that  of  a  paper,  by  the  writer,  in  the  Philosophical  A'evieiv,  IX.,  490. 

X 


3o6  Will  and  Faith 

definite  reference  to  any  self  or  selves.  But  this  treatment, 
of  the  consciousness  which  we  ordinarily  call  willing  or 
choosing  or  determining,  must  strike  every  one  as  a  little 
forced  and  artificial.  The  experience  of  aiming  at  a  target 
or  selecting  a  book  or  adhering  to  a  creed  is  more  naturally 
expressed  by  the  words,  '  I  will,  I  choose,  I  believe,'  than 
by  the  parallel  statements,  '  a  volition  —  a  choice  —  a  be- 
lief.' In  other  words,  just  as  we  have  not  merely  '  per- 
cept '  and  '  image  '  and  '  general  notion  '  but  '  perceiving  ' 
and  'imagining'  and  'thinking,'  so  we  have  not  only  'voli- 
tion' and  'belief  but  'will'  and  'faith.'  One  and  the 
same  experience  may,  therefore,  be  regarded  as  an  idea  in 
a  series,  relatively  distinct  from  a  self,  or  it  may  be  regarded 
as  an  attitude  or  relation  of  a  self. 

Our  first  question  is  this :  how  are  will  and  faith, 
regarded  as  relations  or  attitudes  of  a  self,  distinguished 
from  emotion,  thought  and  perception  .?  The  difference 
seems  to  be  this:  perception,  imagination,  thought  and 
emotion  are,  in  a  sense,  passive  experiences,  whereas  will 
and  faith  are  recognized  as  active.  There  is  no  need  to 
justify  the  statement  that  perception  is  a  passive  experience, 
for  everybody  admits  that  we  cannot  help  seeing  and  hear- 
ing and  smelling,  that  is,  that  we  have  no  direct  control  of 
perceptual  consciousness.  It  is  evident,  also,  that  we  are 
victims  of  memory  and  imagination.  Insignificant  word- 
series  repeat  themselves  with  wearisome  iteration,  gruesome 
scenes  thrust  themselves  upon  us,  and  bitter  experiences 
unroll  themselves  before  our  unwilling  eyes.  It  is  not  so 
obvious  that  thought  is  a  passive  experience :  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  often  regarded  as  active,  in  contrast  with  per- 
ception as  passive.  But  closer  observation  will  disclose 
that  thought,  like  imagination  and  memory,  can  be  called 
active  only  when  combined,  as  it  often  is,  with  will.  In  and 
for  itself,  comparison  or  generalization  or  judgment  is  as 
unavoidable  as  perception  or  memory ;  and  the  truths  of 
geometry  thrust  themselves  upon  us  with  as  firm  a  front  as 
the  things  of  the  sense-world.     Emotion,  finally,  is  com- 


Will  307 

monly  recognized  as  a  passive  sort  of  consciousness,  in 
which  we  are  influenced  by  people  and  things,  a  prey  to 
them,  '  prostrate  beneath  them,'  as  Goethe  somewhere 
says. 

Sharply  contrasted  with  these  passive  relations  of  the 
self  —  with  perception,  thought,  emotion  and  the  others, — 
are  two  supremely  active  experiences,  will  and  faith. 

a.     WILL 

^vVill  is  a  consciousness  of  my  active  connection  with 
other  selves  or  with  things,  an  imperious  relation,  a  domi- 
neering mood,  a  sort  of  bullying  attitude.  It  is  thus  dis- 
tinctly untrue  that  we  stand  in  the  will-relation  to  people 
or  to  things,  only  when  some  bodily  change  or  activity  is 
the  object  of  our  will.  To  be  sure,  that  effect  on  the  acts 
of  others  is  the  inevitable  and  most  practically  significant 
accompaniment  of  will ;  but  not  only  may  external  condi- 
tions prevent  any  action  of  another,  in  accordance  with  my 
will,  but  I  may  not  even  contemplate  any  such  action  on 
his  part,  yet  I  am  actively  related  toward  him,  if  I  inwardly 
assert  him  to  be  subordinate  to  me,  a  means  to  my  self- 
realization./  Similarly,  I  may  not  have  in  mind  any  specific 
change  to  be  brought  about  in  my  material  environment,  yet 
I  am  actively,  assertively,  related  to  it,  if  I  am  conscious 
of  my  superiority  and  my  independence  of  it,  or  if  I  con- 
ceive of  it  as  existing  mainly  for  my  own  use  or  gratification. 

Every  leader  or  captain  among  men  is  thus  an  embodi- 
ment of  will  :  his  domain  may  be  great  or  small,  spirit- 
ual or  physical,  civil  or  Hterary  ;  he  may  be  king  or  shoe- 
maker, archbishop  or  machinist,  inventor  or  novelist ; 
whatever  his  position,  if  he  consciously  imposes  himself 
on  others,  if  he  moulds  to  his  ideals  their  civic  functions, 
their  forms  of  worship  or  their  literary  standards,  their  elec- 
trical furnishings  or  even  their  boots,  he  stands  to  them 
in  the  relation  of  imperious,  domineering,  willing  self.  * 

The  rebel  and  the  stoic  are  even  more  striking  embodi- 


3o8  Stoicism  and  Rebellion 

ments  of  the  will-relation  than  the  mere  leaders  of  men. 
For  stoicism  and  rebellion  are  instances  of  imperiousness, 
in  the  face  of  great  or  even  overwhelming  natural  odds,  — 
assertions  of  one's  independence  in  the  very  moment  of 
opposition  or  defeat.  The  stoic,  in  spite  of  his  conviction 
that  apparent  success  is  with  his  opponent,  is  unflinching 
in  the  assertion  of  his  own  domination.  "  I  am  like  the 
promontory,"  he  declares,  "  against  which  the  waves  con- 
tinually break,  but  it  stands  firm  and  tames  the  fury  of  the 
water  around  it."  The  rebel,  in  Promethean  mood,  defies 
the  very  gods  who  are  torturing  him.  "Can  you  tear  me 
from  myself,"  he  challenges.  "They  ask  to  share  with 
me,"  he  cries  again,  "and  I  will  give  them  naught."^ 

It  is  this  attitude  of  mind,  not  any  specific  direction 
of  consciousness  toward  a  definite  result,  which  consti- 
tutes what  we  call  will,  in  the  most  intimate  meaning  of 
that  word  :  a  realization  of  one's  independence  of  people 
and  of  things,  a  sense  more  or  less  explicit,  of  the  subordi- 
nation of  one's  environment  to  one's  own  use,  active  or 
spiritual,  —  such  a  possession  of  one  self  as  is,  in  its  complet- 
est  development,  a  subjugation  of  every  outlying  circum- 
stance and  of  every  opposing  self.  In  this  broadest  sense, 
will  may  be  the  very  heart  of  defeat,  as  the  splendid 
defiance  of  this  modern  outburst  of  the  stoic  mood  makes 
evident :  — 

"  Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me, 

Black  as  the  pit  from  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul. 


1  Cf.  Goethe's  "  Prometheus  "  :  — 

Prometheus.    Vermocht  Ihr  zu  scheiden 

Mich  von  niir  selbst? 

*  *  *  * 

Epimeiheus.    Wie  vieles  ist  da  dein? 
Promethetis.    Der  Kreis  den  meine  Wirksamkeit  erfiillt 


******** 
Sie  wollen  niit  mir  theilen,  und  ich  meine 
Dass  ich  mit  ihnen  nichts  zu  theilen  halie. 


'  Inipcrsouar    Will  309 

"In  tliL'  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud. 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbowed. 

"  Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears 
Looms  but  the  Horror  of  the  shade. 
And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds  and  shall  find  me  imafraid. 

"  It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate, 

How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 
I  am  the  master  of  my  fate  : 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 


^1  here  are  two  fundamental  forms  of  will,  simple  will 
and  choice,  that  is,  will  after  deliberation.  Deliberation 
is  the  fluctuation  of  tendencies  or  directions  of  one's  self- 
assertiveness,  a  sort  of  clashing  and  warring  of  different 
self-activities./  We  shall  later  illustrate  it,  and  consider  it 
in  more  detail. 

^^Y^\S\.,  it  should  be  noted,  is  originally,  like  all  conscious- 
ness, personal,  —  a  relation  of  self  to  other  selves^  Later, 
however,  when  we  have  made  the  distinction  between 
selves,  on  the  one  hand,  and  things  and  feelings  on  the 
other,  these  psychic  and  physical  facts,  also,  are  thought 
of  as  subordinated  to  the  willing  self.  The  most  funda- 
mental formulation,  of  this  imperious  tendency  in  rela- 
tion to  external  things,  is  the  anthropocentric  theory  of 
nature.  This  doctrine  regards  nature  as  existing  solely 
for  man,  and  explains  natural  phenomena  merely  by  show- 
ing how  they  subserve  man's  interests.  Animals,  it 
teaches,  live  to  furnish  man  food  and  clothes  and  sport, 
the  earth  revolves  to  afford  him  darkness  in  which  to  sleep, 
sunsets  and  oceans  and  birds  of  paradise  exist  to  provide 
him  means  of  aesthetic  pleasure,  and  cork  trees  grow,  as 
Hegel  suggests  in  scornful  paraphrase,  to  furnish  corks 
for  his  wine  bottles.  In  a  word,  the  universe  is  regarded 
solely  as  '  owing  man  a  living,'  and  is  pronounced  satis- 
factory, in  so  far  as  it  fulfils  this  obligation. 


3IO  The  Analysis  of  Will 

We  have  now  to  analyze  into  its  elements  will,  as  active 
relation  of  a  self  to  other  selves  and  to  things.  The 
analysis  will  be  parallel,  except  in  one  particular,  with  the 
analysis  of  a  volition  into  its  elements.  -^iVill,  the  active 
relating  of  one  self  to  another,  certainly  includes  the  con- 
sciousness of  reaUty  and  the  consciousness  of  the  Hnkage 
of  subordinated  self  or  thing  to  imperious  self.  But,  in  so 
far  as  will  is  a  relation  of  self  to  other  selves,  it  does  not 
necessarily  include  a  consciousness  of  timey^  This  follows 
from  the  truths  already  emphasized,  that  the  consciousness 
of  selves  does  not  primarily  take  account  of  time,  whereas 
the  consciousness  of  a  temporal  order  is  fundamental  to 
idea-psychology,  the  study  of  the  series  of  connected  ideas. 
We  may,  however,  and  often  do,  regard  will  from  a  com- 
bination of  both  points  of  view,  that  of  self-psychology 
and  that  of  idea-psychology,  and  may  treat  it  as  imperious 
attitude  of  the  self  to  future  event,  inner  or  outer.  Such 
a  future  event  is  seized  upon,  emphasized  and  dominated 
by  the  willing  self.  This  form  of  willing  includes  all  the 
elements  of  volition,  the  feeling  of  futurity,  as  well  as  the 
consciousness  of  realness  and  of  linkage.  Its  two  forms 
are  the  will  to  act  and  the  will  to  know. 
^^he  will  to  act  consists  in  the  compelling  relation,  the 
dominating,  active  attitude  of  a  self,  toward  an  imaged, 
outer  event.  This  imaged  event  or  situation  is,  of  course, 
no  private  affair  of  one's  own,  but  a  '  public,'  shared,  com- 
municable experience.  In  other  words,  the  will  to  do  is 
an  explicitly  social  experience,  an  imperious  relation  to 
other  people's  perception,/^he  will  to  hit  the  target,  to 
secure  the  book,  or  to  march  at  the  head  of  one's  legions 
always  involves  the  consciousness  of  the  onlooking  other 
selves,  and  is  always,  thus,  an  imposition  of  oneself  upon 
them. 

yfhe  will  to  know,  to  remember  or  to  attend  is  a  similar 
domination  of  the  inner  or  psychic  event.  Both  the  will 
to  know  and  the  will  to  act  may,  furthermore,  be  distin- 
guished as  either  simple  or  deliberative. 


The  Nature  of  Faith  311 

b.     FAITH 

Faith,  as  distinct  from  will,  is  an  adopting  or  acknowledg- 
ing, not  an  imperious,  demanding  phase  of  consciousness, 
laying  emphasis  not  on  myself  but  on  the  'other  self.'  In 
the  attitude  of  will,  I  subordinate  others  to  myself ;  in  that 
of  faith  or  loyalty,  I  submit  myself  to  others.  In  the  mood 
of  will,  I  am  '  captain  of  my  soul  ' ;  in  my  faith,  I  acknowl- 
edge another  leader.  Yet  faith,  like  will,  is  an  active,  not 
a  passive,  attitude  of  one  self  to  other  selves.  It  is  no 
emotional  sinking  beneath  the  force  of  opponent  or  envi- 
ronment but  a  spontaneous,  self-initiated  experience,  the 
identification  of  oneself  with  another's  cause,  the  throwing 
oneself  into  another's  life,  or  the  espousal  of  another's 
interests.  Men  of  faith  have  always,  like  the  heroes  of 
Hebrew  history,  "  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought  righteous- 
ness, obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions,"  and 
this,  through  the  active  identification  of  themselves  with 
great  selves,  great  ideals  and  great  theories. 

Primarily,  of  course,  this  attitude  of  acknowledgment 
and  adoption  is  a  relation  to  other  selves.  And  it  is  in 
this  form  only  that  we  call  it  faith.  When,  later,  the  no- 
tions of  external  thing  and  of  event,  outer  or  inner,  are 
gained,  our  adoption  of  these  is  called  no  longer  faith  but 
belief.  A  man  has  faith  in  his  father,  his  teacher,  his 
business  associate,  his  God ;  he  believes  the  efficacy  of  the 
gold  standard,  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  the  dogma  of  the 
inspiration  of  the  Bible.  The  difference  between  this  term 
'belief  (used  without  the  article),  as  describing  a  relation 
of  selves  to  events  or  to  doctrines,  and  the  term  '  a  belief,' 
which  refers  to  the  belief-idea,  should  be  carefully  marked. 

This  doctrine  of  faith  is  most  often  obscured  by  confus- 
ing it  with  the  bare  consciousness  of  reality.  A  certain 
consciousness  of  reality  is,  it  is  true,  essential  to  the  active 
attitude  toward  selves  and  toward  things,  that  is,  both  to 
faith  and  to  will.  But  the  mere  awareness  of  reality  is  a 
very  subordinate  part  of  the  experience  of  faith,  or  belief, 


2,12       Faith  and  the  Conviction  of  Reality 

despite  the  fact  that  it  is  chief  constituent  of  beliefs, 
regarded  as  mere  ideas.  Faith  is  always  an  active,  per- 
sonal attitude  toward  another  self ;  belief  is  always  an  ac- 
tive, personal  attitude  toward  things,  events  or  truths ;  and 
both  faith  and  belief  involve,  but  are  not  exhausted  by,  a 
consciousness  of  the  realness  of  selves  or  of  things. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  that  the  opposite  confusion  of 
terms  sometimes  occurs,  that  is  to  say,  that  the  conscious- 
ness of  realness  is  sometimes  described  as  if  it  were  a 
personal  attitude.  So  James  says  ^  that  the  "  quality  of 
reality  is  a  relation  to  our  life.  It  means  our  adoption  of 
things,  our  caring  for  them,  our  standing  by  them."  And 
with  a  similar  suggestion,  Baldwin  ^  speaks  of  our  '  personal 
endorsement '  of  reality. 

The  relation  between  faith  and  the  mere  awareness  of 
reality  is  most  often  discussed  on  an  ethical  basis.  We 
receive,  from  great  teachers  of  righteousness,  fervid  exhor- 
tations to  have  faith  and  to  beheve.  But  still  other  teach- 
ers warn  us,  as  solemnly,  that  it  is  alike  irrational  and 
immoral  to  proclaim  an  obligation  to  hold  opinions.  These 
moraUsts  insist  that  it  is  meaningless  to  assert  the  ethical 
superiority  of  one  idea  to  another,  and  they  teach  that  the 
alleged  duty,  to  hold  this  or  that  view  of  reahty,  is  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  only  intellectual  obhgation  —  unswerving  hon- 
esty in  investigation. 

This  revolt  against  the  '  duty  to  believe '  would  be 
justified,  if  it  did  not  presuppose  a  wrong  interpretation 
of  the  exhortations  to  faith.  The  truth  is,  that  the  great 
moral  teachers  always  regard  faith  as  personal  acknowl- 
edgment of  great  selves  and  of  great  personal  ideals. 
Such  acknowledgment  may  involve,  it  is  true,  a  certain 
consciousness  of  reality,  and  is  never  possible  toward  self 
or  toward  cause  which  is  held  as  definitely  unreal.  On 
the  other  hand,  such  a  personal  acknowledgment  does 
not   presuppose   any   reasoned  conclusion    or   any  philo- 

1  Op.  ciL,  Vol.  II.,  p.  569.  2  "  Feeling  and  Will,"  p.  158. 


Classification  3 1 3 

sophic  conviction  about  reality,  and  may  even  exist  along 
with  an  unemphasized  or  a  fluctuating  consciousness  of 
the  reality  of  the  self  or  the  cause,  with  which  one  allies 
oneself.  The  duty  to  have  faith  is  always,  therefore,  the 
obligation  to  identify  oneself  with  the  persons  or  the 
causes  which  seem  the  highest ;  and  the  exhortation  to  faith 
is  always,  on  the  lips  of  the  great  teachers,  an  incentive  to 
loyalty.  Thus,  the  New  Testament  commands  to  believe 
emphasize,  always,  the  need  or  the  duty  of  an  affirming, 
consenting,  personal  attitude  toward  a  divine  self,  and  do 
not  require  that  one  hold  an  opinion  about  him  ;  and  the 
great  creeds,  also,  are  expressions  of  a  personal  relation. 
For,  from  this  point  of  view,  a  conception  of  the  duty  of  faith 
may  clearly  be  held,  since  personal  relations,  not  convic- 
tions of  reality,  are  the  objects  of  obligation,  and  since  faith 
is  the  active,  adoptive  relation  of  one  self  with  another. 

Ill 

We  are  ready  now  to  consider,  in  more  detail,  the  differ- 
ent forms  of  these  experiences  which,  regarded  from  one 
point  of  view,  are  called  will  and  faith,  whereas,  from  the 
other  standpoint,  they  are  known  as  volitions  and  beliefs. 

Our  discussion  will  follow  the  course  of  the  following 
classification  :  — 


Will  and  Faith 

Volition  and  Belief 

I.   Will  to  Act 

I.    Outer  Volition 

(and  Belief). 

a. 

Simple.                              (and  the  Belief). 

1.  With  resident  end. 

2.  With  remote  end. 

b. 

Choice. 

1.  Without  effort. 1 

2.  With  effort.  1 

II.    Will  to  Know 

II.    Inner  Volition 

(and  Belief). 

a. 

Simple.                            (and  the  Belief). 

b. 

Choice. 

1.  Without  effort. 

2.  With  effort. 

^  With  resident  or  with  remote  end. 


314  Simple    Will  and  Choice 

The  chief  distinction  which  is  found,  between  the  forms 
of  the  active  relations  of  one  self  to  other  selves,  is  that 
between  the  simple  will-relation  and  the  choice.  In  addi- 
tion, we  shall  consider  only  the  will  to  act  and  the  will  to 
know,  which  are  will-relations  of  selves  to  things  and 
events,  not  to  other  selves.  We  shall  not,  on  the  other 
hand,  attempt  a  formal  scheme  of  the  delicately  varying 
relations  of  self  to  selves. 

In  discussing  volitions,  we  found  them  distinguished  as 
*  outer  '  and  '  inner,'  and  in  considering  the  imperious  rela- 
tion of  a  self  to  things  and  events,  we  contrasted  the  will  to  act 
with  the  will  to  know.  A  similar  division  may  be  made, 
we  observed,  among  beliefs  or  forms  of  belief.  This  distinc- 
tion we  shall  now  illustrate  and  discuss  in  greater  detail, 
^^uter  volition,  or  the  will  to  act,  may  be  either  a  con- 
sciousness of  bodily  movement  or  a  consciousness  of  the 
result  of  movemen^^  In  the  expression  of  James,  it  may 
be  of  the  '  resident '  or  of  the  '  remote  '  end.  It  is  thus  a 
consciousness  of  straining  muscle  or  of  moving  hand,  or 
else  a  consciousness  of  the  effect  of  these  movements,  of 
the  note  to  be  sounded,  the  button  to  be  fastened,  or  the 
outline  to  be  drawn.  This  consciousness  of  the  remote 
end  may  be  visual,  auditory,  or,  in  fact,  of  any  sense-type 
whatever.  The  movements  necessary  to  gain  this  remote 
end  are,  however,  not  voluntary  but  merely  refle.x,  since 
the  image,  which  precedes  them,  is  of  result  not  of  move- 
ment. This  conclusion  accords  with  the  certainty,^  that 
a  given  bodily  movement,  without  preceding  image,  may 
be  performed,  not  only  with  entire  unconsciousness  (as 
an  unconscious  reflex),  but  with  accompanying,  though 
not  antecedent,  consciousness  (as  a  conscious  reflex).  The 
movements,  by  which  a  '  remote  end '  is  attained,  be- 
long to  either  class  of  reflex  acts,  that  is,  they  are  either 
unconscious  or  conscious,  but  they  are  involuntary.  A 
man's  volition,  for  example,  is  to  reach  the  railway  station, 

1  Cf.  Appendix,  Section  VI. 


Resident  and  Remote  End  315 

and  involuntarily  he  breaks  into  a  run  toward  it ;  he  has 
a  visual  consciousness  of  the  platform,  which  means  that 
a  centre  in  his  occipital  lobe  is  excited ;  this  cxcitciion 
spreads  along  fibres  which  lead  to  the  Rolandic  centres  of 
leg-muscle  activity,  and  by  the  excitation  of  these  centres 
his  movements  of  running  are  excited.  He  is  conscious 
of  the  running,  but  only  after  it  has  begun,  and  he  is  even 
unconscious  of  some  of  the  leg-contractions  involved  in 
the  running.  His  definite  volition-image  is  merely  '  rail- 
road station,'  not  '  movement  of  running ' ;  or,  in  terms  of 
self-psychology,  he  actively  relates  himself  to  the  railroad 
station,  not  to  his  leg-muscles,  and  the  movements  follow 
as  reflexes,  without  being  specifically  willed. 

In  truth,  the  development  of  the  life  of  consciousness 
always  tends  to  suppress  the  direct  motor  voUtions.  Al- 
most all  bodily  movements  are  better  executed  when  our 
aim  is  directed  toward  the  result  to  which  they  lead,  that 
is  to  say,  when  the  object  of  volition  or  of  will  is  an  'outer 
object,'  not  an  imaged  bodily  movement.  A  reduction  in 
the  number  of  one's  detailed  voluntary  movements  is  thus 
a  work  of  psychic  advancement  :  only  the  amateur  musician 
needs  to  decide  the  exact  curve  of  his  finger,  only  the 
child  thinks  how  he  will  twist  the  obstinate  button. 

A  still  more  fundamental  distinction  —  applying  equally 
to  inner  volition,  or  the  will  to  know,  and  to  outer  volition, 
or  the  will  to  act  —  is  that  between  the  simple  volition  (or 
willing)  and  the  choice,  the  volition  (or  willing)  after  de- 
liberation. As  has  been  said,  the  essential  feature  of  this 
situation  is  a  fluctuation  of  experiences.  From  the  stand- 
point of  idea-psychology,  this  fluctuation  is  of  images  ;  from 
the  standpoint  of  self-psychology,  it  is  a  fluctuation  of  dif- 
ferent active  attitudes  of  one  self  toward  other  selves  or 
things.  I  choose,  let  us  say,  to  hear  Tannhaiiser  instead  of 
Lohengrin,  but  my  choice  is  preceded  by  what  is  called 
deliberation,  a  sort  of  mental  see-saw  of  Tannhaiiser  and 
Lohengrin  consciousness  :  now  the  'Pilgrim  Chorus  '  sounds 


o 


1 6  Simple   Will  and  Choice 


clear  and  sweet  in  my  imagination,  but  its  music  is  drowned 
by  that  of  the  bridal  music  ;  again,  the  swan-boat  is  vivid 
before  me,  but  it  is  blotted  out  by  a  vision  of  the  festival 
scene.  The  whole  experience  is  attended  by  feelings  of 
perplexity  and  unrest,  the  characteristic  discomfort  of 
'  making  up  one's  mind.' 

The  alternating  images  are  not  always  of  the  definite 
ends  of  action.  The  imaged  accompaniments  and  results 
of  these  rival  acts  may  play  leading  roles  in  my  delibera- 
tion. If  I  am  deciding  between  a  year  of  travel  and  a 
year  of  graduate  study,  the  thought  of  the  culture  which 
may  come  from  travel  will  be  confronted  by  a  reflection 
on  the  definite  attainments  of  the  university  courses.  If  I 
am  wavering  between  a  new  rug  and  a  set  of  books,  the 
vision  of  my  glorified  floor  will  be  crowded  out  by  an 
image  of  the  tooled  leather  backs  of  the  Moliere  volumes, 
in  a  prominent  corner  of  my  bookshelves.  That  is  to  say 
—  in  terms  now  of  the  consciousness  of  self  —  I  relate  my- 
self, now  to  one,  now  to  another  of  these  rival  images. 

The  great  dramatists  lay  bare  before  us  the  crises  of 
deliberation  in  their  heroes'  lives.  A  classic  example  is 
the  conflict  of  pity  and  honor  with  patriotism  and  personal 
ambition  in  the  heart  of  Achilles'  son,  Neoptolemos,  face 
to  face  with  the  sufferings  of  the  hero,  Philoctetes,  whom 
he  may  betray  for  his  own  gain  and  for  the  interest  of  the 
Hellenes,  or  save  and  befriend  for  loyalty's  and  for  friend- 
ship's sake.  Another  illustration  is  found  in  the  soliloquies 
of  Hamlet,  in  whom 

"the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought.'" 

Sometimes,  as  in  the  experience  of  Hamlet  and  of  Werther, 
the  deliberation  is  never  concluded,  but  becomes  a  fixed 
habit  of  irresolution,  a  perpetual  vacillation.  Normally, 
however,  it  is  ended  by  the  decision,  or  choice.  The 
choice,  it  will  be  remembered,  may  be  regarded  from  two 
points  of  view.    In  terms  of  idea-psychology,  it  is  that  one 


Choice  zvithont  Effort  317 

of  the  alternating  images  to  which,  finally,  the  feeling  of 
anticipatoriness  is  attached.  Thus,  the  image  of  himself, 
as  conquerer  of  the  Trojans,  gives  place  in  the  mind  of 
Neoptolemos  to  the  image  of  his  father's  friend,  the  in- 
jured Philoctetes,  rejoicing  to  regain  his  bow  ;  and  this 
last  image,  supplemented  by  a  consciousness  of  necessary 
connection  with  a  real  future,  is  a  volition,  not  a  mere 
antecedent  image.  Or,  to  translate  into  terms  of  self-psy- 
chology, Neoptolemos  no  longer  vacillates  between  the 
imperious  and  the  loyal  attitudes  toward  Philoctetes,  but 
definitely  acknowledges  and  adopts  the  interests  of  the 
wounded  Greek. 

In  considering  the  different  sorts  of  choice,  we  shall  do 
well  to  follow  the  lead  of  James,  distinguishing  'choices 
without  effort '  from  '  choices  with  effort.'  For  idea- 
psychology,  the  difference  is  simply  this :  in  the  choice 
without  effort,  the  victorious  volition,  or  will,  drives  its  rival 
off  the  field,  whereas,  in  the  choice  with  effort,  a  man 
chooses  one  alternative  in  full  view  of  the  other.  The 
choice  without  effort,  however  prolonged  and  restless  the 
deliberation  which  has  preceded,  is  an  easy  choice,  because 
at  the  exact  time  of  making  it  no  other  act  or  result  is 
contemplated. 

The  choice  without  effort  usually  conforms  with  our 
habits  of  thought,  inclination  and  action.  I  am  deliberat- 
ing, let  us  suppose,  whether  to  eat  the  green  bon-bon  or 
the  pink.  The  green  one  is  larger,  but  the  pink  one  is 
prettier ;  the  green  one  looks  as  if  had  nuts  in  it,  but  the 
pink  one  looks  as  if  it  were  creamy.  So  far  I  am  unde- 
cided, but  now  the  green  suggests  pistachio,  which  I  do  not 
like,  and  at  once,  quite  without  effort,  I  choose  the  pink. 
Or  I  am  trying  to  decide  whether  or  not  to  buy  this  vol- 
ume of  Swinburne.  The  paper  is  poor  and  the  print  is 
fine,  but  the  price  is  low  and  the  poems  are  complete.  "  I 
really  must  have  it,"  I  say  to  myself.  "  But  the  print  is 
impossible,"  I  reflect.  My  indecision,  however  prolonged, 
is  ended  by  the  discovery  that  the  book  is  an  unauthorized 


3i8  Choice  without  Effoi^t 

American  reprint.  Now  I  long  since  decided  to  buy  only 
authorized  editions  of  English  books,  and  my  actual  de- 
cision, to  reject  the  book,  is  made  without  effort,  that  is, 
without  even  a  thought  of  the  advantage  of  the  book. 

When  confronted,  therefore,  with  what  seems  a  new 
decision,  it  is  wise,  as  James  has  taught,  to  consider  its 
relation  to  former  choices,  to  fundamental  inclinations  and 
to  habitual  actions.  The  result  of  such  a  '  classification,' 
as  James  calls  it,  is  usually  a  decision  without  effort.  An 
action,  clearly  realized  as  essential  to  the  fulfilment  of  a 
choice  already  made,  will  promptly  be  chosen.  The  advan- 
tage of  what  the  old  psychologies  called  'governing  choices ' 
is  precisely  this,  that  they  make  '  subordinate  choices  ' 
easy.  When,  for  instance,  I  have  chosen  a  college  or  a 
society,  I  have  limited  the  range  of  my  subordinate  choices, 
and  I  can  no  longer  consider  seriously  courses  of  study 
which  my  college  does  not  recognize.  One  of  the  reasons 
why  it  is  so  necessary  to  make  these  inclusive,  governing 
choices  is  simply,  therefore,  that  one  may  economize  the 
time  and  energy  required  by  deliberation.  For  the  same 
reason,  the  more  developed  the  consciousness,  the  fewer 
always  are  the  decisions.  Just  as  the  acts  at  first  per- 
formed with  definite  purpose  become  mere  reflexes,  so 
actions  once  performed  by  deliberate  choice  tend  to  follow 
from  simple  volitions.  When  I  am  reading,  for  instance, 
in  an  utterly  desultory  way,  I  may  have  to  choose  between 
"  Eleanor  "  and  "  Unleavened  Bread,"  but  if  I  have  en- 
tered on  a  "  Modern  Italy  "  course  of  reading,  I  take  the 
first  without  hesitating,  whereas  if  I  am  studying  American 
society,  I  turn  to  the  second. 

The  choice  with  effort  is  not,  of  necessity,  preceded 
by  longer  or  more  painful  deliberation  (that  is,  vacillating 
consciousness)  than  the  effortless  choice.  The  essential 
difference  is  simply  this,  that  the  choice  is  made  with  full 
consciousness  of  the  neglected  alternative.  "  Both  alter- 
natives," James  says,  "are  steadily  held  in  view,  and  in  the 
very  act  of  murdering  the  vanished  possibility,  the  chooser 


Choice  with  Effort  319 

realizes  how  much  he  is  making  himself  lose."  George  Eliot 
has  suggested  this  experience  in  the  story  of  Romola's 
meeting  with  Savonarola,  as  she  sought  to  escape  from 
Tito  and  from  Florence.  "  SJic  foresaiv  tJiat  she  slioidd 
obey  Savonarola  and  go  back.  His  arresting  voice  had 
brought  a  new  condition  to  her  life,  which  made  it  seem 
impossible  to  her  that  she  could  go  on  her  way  as  if  she 
had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  shrank  as  one  ivJio  sees  the  patJi 
she  must  tatce,  but  sees,  too,  that  the  hot  lava  lies  tJicreT  ^ 

This  book  follows  the  usage  of  James  in  making  the 
term  '  effort '  describe  simply  the  '  unhappy  experience 
of  fluctuating  consciousness.'  The  word,  however,  is  used 
by  others,  with  at  least  two  other  meanings.  It  is  sometimes 
employed  as  synonym  for  '  conation,'  to  designate  the 
alleged  element  of  consciousness  which  is  found  in  voli- 
tion. It  is  also  used,  by  Titchener  ^  and  by  others,  for  the 
complex  consciousness  of  the  bodily  movements  which  ac- 
company all  volition. 

It  must  be  added  that  the  accounts  of  dehberation,  for- 
mulated in  terms  of  the  psychology  of  ideas,  are  far  less 
convincing,  that  is,  less  adequate,  than  descriptions  of  de- 
liberation as  opposition  of  distinct  tendencies  of  a  self. 
Such  doctrines  of  conflicting  ideas  often,  indeed,  win  their 
credence,  because  we  unconsciously  add  to  the  conception 
of  alternating  ideas  the  more  fundamental  one  of  warring 
self-activities.  We  may  illustrate  this  from  our  former 
examples.  We  do  not  naturally  represent  to  ourselves  the 
struggle  of  Neoptolemos,  as  a  mere  fluctuation  of  images, 
—  a  picture  of  himself,  the  triumphant  possessor  of  the 
bow  of  Philoctetes,  striding  as  victor  through  the  walls 
of  Troy,  alternating  with  a  picture  of  Philoctetes,  calmed 
and  consoled,  the  holder  of  his  own  bow.  We  rather 
think  of  this  deliberation,  as  a  struggle  between  will  —  the 
tendency  to  subordinate  Philoctetes  despoiled  of  his  weap- 
ons—  and  faith  —  the  loyal  acknowledgment  of  the  rights 

1  Italics,  mine.  -  Cf.  "  Outline,"  §  37. 


326  Deliberation 

of  Philoctetes  and  the  active  adoption  of  his  cause. 
Roraola's  deliberation,  also,  is  essentially  the  vibration  be- 
tween these  two  fundamental  tendencies  toward  self-asser- 
tion and  self-effacement,  toward  the  satisfaction  of  her 
own  craving  for  a  new  life  and  the  acknowledgment  of  a 
higher  authority  than  her  own  desire.  Both  these  are 
instances  of  an  alternation,  not  between  one  willing  tendency 
and  another,  but  a  fluctuation  between  will  and  faith,  the 
egoistic  and  altruistic  tendencies,  the  imperious  and  the 
acknowledging  moods,  the  decision  to  lose  one's  life  for 
another's  sake  or  to  save  it. 

Deliberation  may,  furthermore,  be  a  struggle  of  faith 
with  faith.  Antigone's  loyal  love  for  her  brother  in  op- 
position to  her  obedience  to  the  state,  the  jealousy  of 
Brutus,  for  Rome,  rising  up  against  his  grateful  love  to 
Caesar,  Robert  Lee's  allegiance  to  his  state  in  conflict  with 
his  love  for  the  Union,  —  are  classic  examples  of  an  ex- 
perience to  which  nobody  is  a  stranger.  A  final  form  of 
deliberation  is  the  conflict  of  will  with  will,  the  alternatinsf 
impulses  to  subordinate  now  one,  now  another,  person  or 
thing  to  oneself,  —  for  example,  to  possess  oneself  of  this 
object  or  of  that,  to  suppress  this  inclination  or  that  other. 

The  most  strenuous  deliberations  of  all  these  types  are 
those  of  the  moral  life  :  the  fluctuations  between  good  and 
evil,  right  and  wrong,  desire  and  obedience.  Lifehke 
descriptions  of  deliberation  are,  for  this  reason,  almost 
always  accounts  of  moral  choices.  Of  this  fact,  the  dram- 
atists and  the  novehsts  give  abundant  illustration  ;  and 
even  on  the  pages  of  the  moralists,  one  may  find  vivid  sug- 
gestions of  the  warring  of  personal  tendencies  in  delibera- 
tion. "  I  see  another  law  in  my  members,"  St.  Paul 
exclaims,  "warring  against  the  law  of  my  mind."  "Clearly 
there  is,"  says  Aristotle,  "  beside  Reason,  some  other 
natural   principle  which  fights  with  and  strains  against  it." 


CHAPTER    XXII 
TYPICAL    PERSONAL    RELATIONS 

The  Religious  Consciousness 

i.  typical  personal  relations 

From  the  conception  of  psychology  as  study  of  related 
selves,  it  follows  that  every  concrete  social  relation  may  be 
the  basis  of  a  psychological  study:  my  relation  to  this 
friend  and  to  that,  to  brother  or  father  or  wife  or  child, 
to  my  employer  or  to  my  cook  —  every  one,  indeed,  of  the 
relations,  in  which  my  life  consists,  may  be  reflected  on, 
analyzed  and  explained  after  this  manner  of  the  psycholo- 
gist. The  truth  is,  however,  that  a  very  healthy  instinct 
prevents  us,  ordinarily,  from  this  sort  of  analysis  of  our 
personal  relations.  We  are  too  deeply  absorbed,  in  living 
the  relations,  to  reflect  about  them  from  the  dispassionate 
scientist's  point  of  view.  We  hesitate,  and  rightly,  to 
pluck  out  the  heart  of  our  own  mysteries ;  we  prefer  to 
love  and  to  have  faith,  to  sympathize  and  to  enjoy,  to  com- 
mand and  to  yield,  without  rendering  up  to  ourselves  a 
balanced  account  of  our  attitude  to  other  people.  But 
though  we  rarely  expose  our  own  experience  to  the  dissect- 
ing knife  of  the  psychologist,  there  is  yet  no  reason  why 
the  text-book  in  psychology,  in  so  far  as  it  treats  of  the 
relations  of  selves,  should  not  supply  the  lack  of  scientific 
analysis  in  our  own  lives,  by  furnishing  us  with  a  series 
of  studies  of  typical,  personal  relations  —  studies,  for  ex- 
ample, of  the  filial,  the  fraternal  or  the  civic  relation,  or 
even  more  general  studies,  after  the  fashion  of  Hegel's 
analysis  of  typical  moods  of  youth  —  the  romantic,  the 
Y  321 


^22  Typical  Personal  Relations 

Quixotic  and  the  Byronic.  But  there  is  a  practical  reason 
why  the  text-book  on  psychology  does  not,  ordinarily, 
include  such  studies  of  typical  and  universal  relations. 
The  novel  and  the  drama  have  already  usurped  this  func- 
tion of  the  psychological  treatise,  and  just  because  their 
characters,  however  typical,  are  also  particular  and  highly 
individual,  therefore,  the  psychology  of  novel  or  of  drama 
is  more  absorbing  and  closer  to  life,  than  that  of  any 
treatise.  It  follows  that  the  novel  has  become,  in  some 
degree,  the  popular  introduction  to  psychology.  For  just 
as  it  is  true  of  beauty  that 

"  we're  made  so  that  we  love 
First  when  we  see  them  painted,  things  we  have  passed 
Perhaps  a  hundred  times  nor  cared  to  sec,  —  " 

SO  we  may  first  have  taken  notice  of  our  own  tendencies 
and  attitudes,  as  embodied  in  a  Shakespearian  courtier  or  in 
one  of  George  Eliot's  scholars. 

The  novel  or  drama  is,  of  course,  a  study  in  the  psychol- 
ogy of  personal  relations  only.  With  the  enumeration  of 
structural  elements  of  consciousness  and  the  assignment  of 
each  to  a  physiological  condition,  it  is  only  incidentally  con- 
cerned ;  but  the  complexity  and  richness  of  the  relations  of 
its  dramatis  pcrsoim  are  the  very  soul  of  it.  The  interest  of 
a  Shakespeare  play  does  not  centre  in  the  scene  —  the 
witches'  heath  or  the  field  of  Agincourt  —  nor  in  the  rhythm 
and  melody  of  the  verses,  but  in  the  developing  and  con- 
trasting relations  of  the  central  figures  to  each  other  and  to 
the  lesser  characters.  Thus,  the  plays  of  which  King 
Henry  the  Fifth  is  hero  are  a  study  of  a  youth  of  promi- 
nently active  nature,  in  whom  the  emotions  are  undevel- 
oped and  unaccentuated.  The  love  scene  is  sufficient 
proof  of  this :  King  Henry  complains  that  he  has  '  no 
genius  in  protestation,'  and  that  he  "  cannot  look  greenly 
nor  gasp  otit  his  eloquence,''  but  though  he  doubtless  him- 
self believes  that  he  lacks  only  expression,  the  discriminat- 
ing reader  realizes  that  he  is  not  capable  of  deep  emotion. 


The  Religious  Consciousness  323 

and  that  even  while  he  laughs  and  plays  pranks  with  Falstaff, 
and  makes  love  to  Kate,  he  is  never  carried  out  of  himself, 
never  a  prey  to  feeling,  in  a  word,  never  in  passive  emo- 
tional relation  to  anybody,  even  to  his  sweetheart.  Always, 
therefore,  on  the  battlefield  or  in  the  court  of  love,  he  is 
the  plain  soldier,  actively  and  imperiously  related  to  men, 
whether  he  hand  them  their  death  warrants  or  give  them 
his  gloves  as  favors,  whether  he  boast  of  his  army's  prow- 
ess or  hearten  his  soldiers  in  their  discouragement. 

So  —  to  take  a  very  different  example  —  "  Red  Pottage" 
is  not  primarily  a  story  of  certain  tragic  happenings.  The 
plot,  to  tell  the  truth,  strikes  most  of  us  as  melodramatic 
and  unessential,  and  we  forget  it  promptly.  The  book  is 
significant  mainly  because  it  introduces  to  us  two  charac- 
ters, and  because  it  lays  bare  their  relations  to  other  people. 
These  characters,  alike  for  all  the  difference  of  costume  and 
setting,  are  Lady  Newhaven  —  who  rehearses  every  situ- 
ation with  herself  as  central  figure,  who  regards  every 
person  as  minister  to  her  desires  or  as  foil  to  her  charms, 
and  who  treats  every  incident  as  stage-accessory  —  and  Mr. 
Gresley,  who  occupies  the  foreground  of  all  his  own  can- 
vases, and  who  never  looks  at  any  event  or  thing  or  person 
from  any  other  than  his  own  self-centred  point  of  view. 

But  though,  for  the  most  part,  we  are  content  to  leave  in  the 
hands  of  dramatist  and  of  novelist  the  treatment  of  concrete 
personal  relations,  there  is  one  such  relation  so  universal, 
so  significant  and  so  misapprehended,  that  we  shall  venture 
to  consider  it.     This  is  the  relation  of  human  to  divine  self. 


II.     THE    RELIGIOUS    CONSCIOUSNESS 

Many  definitions  of  the  religious  consciousness  may  be 
found,  but  simplest  and  most  adequate,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  writer,  is  the  conception  of  religion  as  the  conscious  re- 
lation of  the  human  self  to  a  divine  self,  that  is,  to  a  self  re- 
garded as  greater  than  this  human  self  or  any  of  its  fellows. 

If  there  were  space  to  argue  in  detail  for  this  conception 


324    Histoi^ical  Religions  as  Personal  Relations 

of  the  religious  consciousness,  one  would  first  of  all  point 
out  that  it  lies  at  the  base  of  all  historical  forms  of  religion. 
As  is  well  known,  living  beings  and  nature  phenomena  are 
the  objects  of  the  primitive  religious  consciousness.  An- 
cestor worship  is  the  most  important  form  of  the  worship 
of  conscious  beings ;  fetichism  and  the  worship  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  are  the  extreme  forms  of  the  nature  reli- 
gions. Now  it  is  obvious  that  the  worship  of  the  dead 
warrior  or  patriarch,  and  indeed  the  worship  of  any  person, 
or  even  of  any  animal,  living  or  dead,  is  a  conscious  rela- 
tion of  the  worshipper  to  another  self.  But  it  seems,  at  first 
sight,  as  if  the  worship  of  a  nature  phenomenon  could  not 
be  in  any  sense  a  conscious  relation  to  a  greater  self.  A 
fetich  is  an  insignificant  object,  a  bit  of  bone  or  a  twig  or 
a  pebble,  not  a  living  being  ;  and  sun,  moon,  air  and  water, 
the  gods  of  the  nature  religions,  are  inanimate  beings.  A 
closer  study,  however,  shows  that  these  objects,  fetiches  as 
well  as  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  are  worshipped,  not  for 
what  they  are,  but  because  they  are  looked  upon  as  em- 
bodiments of  conscious  selves.  No  savage  is  so  ignorant 
that  he  fears  and  reverences  a  bit  of  bone,  as  mere  bone ; 
he  worships  it  because  he  looks  upon  it  as,  in  some  myste- 
rious way,  the  instrument  or  symbol  of  a  powerful,  though 
unseen,  self  or  spirit.  And  no  Aryan,  we  may  be  sure, 
ever  bowed  down  before  the  sun,  feeling  that  his  god  was 
a  mere  flaming,  yellow  ball.  He  worshipped  the  sun  as  a 
being,  apart  from  him  and  infinitely  greater  than  he,  yet 
none  the  less  a  self,  however  vaguely  conceived.  Nature 
souls,  in  the  words  of  Pfleiderer,  a  well-known  historian  of 
religion,  "are  originally  nothing  but  the  livingness  and  ac- 
tive power  of  the  phenomena  of  nature,  conceived  after  the 
analogy  of  animal  and  man  as  willing  and  feeling  beings."^ 
If  this  were  a  book  about  religion,  instead  of  being  a 
book  about  psychology,  it  would  go  on  to  show  that  the 

1  "  Philosophy  of  Religion,"  Vol.  III.,  p.  237.     Cf.  E.  B.  Tyler,  "  Trimitive 
Culture,"  Vol.  II  ,  pp.  185  and  294. 


The  Personal  Nature  of  Religions  Rite     325 

systems,  which  seem  to  diverge  from  this  conception,  are 
no  true  exceptions.  It  would  show,  also,  that  the  history 
of  religion  chronicles,  in  a  sort  of  pendular  succession,  a 
reaction  of  two  motives,  one  upon  the  other.  A  given 
religion,  while  it  must  include  both  factors,  emphasizes 
either  the  superior  power  of  its  gods  or  else  their  essential 
likeness  to  human  beings.  In  the  lower  forms  of  animism, 
for  example,  there  is  little  difference  between  god  and 
worshipper ;  and  the  gods  of  the  Hellenes,  who  live  among 
men,  feasting,  plotting,  making  love,  come  perilously  near 
to  losing  the  divine  attribute  of  power.  The  higher  nature- 
deities,  on  the  other  hand,  are  revered  as  immeasurably 
greater  than  human  beings. 

The  history  of  religious  rite  and  ceremonial  furnishes 
another  proof  of  the  personal  nature  of  the  rehgious  con- 
sciousness. Prayer  is,  as  Tyler  has  said,^  "  the  address  of 
personal  spirit  to  personal  spirit  .  .  .  simply  an  extension 
of  the  daily  intercourse  between  man  and  man."  The 
prayer,  often  quoted,  of  the  Samoyed  woman  on  the 
steppes,  shows  very  clearly  how  simple  may  be  this  com- 
munication of  the  human  with  the  divine.  In  the  morn- 
ing, bowing  down  before  the  sun,  she  said  only,  '  When 
thou  risest,  I  too  rise  from  my  bed,'  and  in  the  evening  she 
said,  '  When  thou  sinkest  down,  I  too  get  me  to  rest.'  ^ 
Here  we  have  neither  petition,  confession  nor  explicit  ad- 
oration, but  mere  intercourse,  that  is,  acknowledgment  of 
common  experience.  Prayer  may  be,  indeed,  a  mere  request 
for  material  good  like  the  Gold  Coast  negro's  prayer,  '  God 
give  me  rice  and  yams,  gold  and  agries,  give  me  slaves, 
riches  and  health,"  ^  or  it  may  be  a  prayer  for  forgiveness, 
like  the  Aryan's  cry,  "Through  want  of  strength,  thou 
strong  and  bright  God,  have  I  gone  wrong ;  have  mercy, 
almighty,  have  mercy;"  *  but  whatever  its  form,  prayer,  like 

1  op.  cit..  Vol.  11.,  p.  364. 

'•^  Tyler,  op.  cit ,  Vnl.  II.,  pp.  291,  292. 

^  Tyler,  op.  cit..  Vol.  II.,  p.  367. 

*  (Quoted  by  Tyler,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  374,  from  the  Rig  Veda,  VII.,  89,  3. 


326  The  Nature  of  Religion 

sacrifice,  is  always  the  communion  of  the  human  with  the 
more-than-human  spirit. 

This  introductory  reference  to  the  history  of  rehgions 
and  of  religious  rites  prepares  us  for  our  specific  problem, 
the  nature  of  the  religious  consciousness.  The  conception 
which  we  have  gained  enables  us,  in  the  first  place,^  to 
limit  the  essentials  of  the  religious  experience.  Ritual  and 
ceremonial,  theories  of  heaven  and  hell,  and  even  hopes 
of  immortahty  are  religious  only  in  so  far  as  they  grow 
out  of  the  consciousness  of  God  or  grow  up  into  it ;  in  the 
realization  and  immediate  acquaintance  with  God,  the 
religious  experience  has  its  centre  and  its  circumference. 
We  shall  gain  a  truer  understanding,  therefore,  of  the 
religious  consciousness,  if  we  do  not  regard  it  as  an  expe- 
rience radically  different  from  the  other  personal  relations 
of  our  lives.  For  if  God  be  just  a  greater  self,  then  one's 
attitude  toward  him  cannot  be  utterly  unlike  one's  attitude 
toward  a  powerful  human  friend  or  chief.  In  our  study 
of  the  religious  consciousness,  we  must  thus  be  guided 
throughout  by  the  analogy  of  human  relationships. 

Now  human  beings  are,  first  of  all,  liked  or  disliked, 
feared  or  thanked,  loved  or  hated,  and  in  the  same  way 
the  religious  experience  is  always,  in  part  at  least,  emo- 
tional. At  its  lowest  emotional  terms,  it  includes  at  least 
the  feeling  of  the  dependence  of  the  human  on  the  divine. 
But  ordinarily  the  religious  experience  is  far  richer  in 
emotion,  and  there  is,  indeed,  no  significant  phase  of  human 
feeling,  which  may  not  as  well  characterize  the  relation  of 
man  to  God  as  that  of  man  to  man.  Abject  fear,  pro- 
found gratitude,  bitter  hatred  or  devoted  love  may  be  fac- 
tors of  the  religious  experience.  The  savage,  who  bribes 
his  gods  through  fear  of  them,  and  the  rebels  who  cry  out, 
"  All  we  are  against  thee,  against  thee,  O  God  most  high," 
are  as  truly  religious  in  their  emotion  as  the  humblest  and 
most  self-forgetful  worshippers. 

1  This  sentence  and  a  few  of  those  which  follow  are  quoted  from  a  paper, 
by  the  writer,  in  the  Nnu  World,  1896. 


Religion  and  Morality  327 

We  have  found,  however,  in  our  analysis  of  personal 
relations,  that  there  is  an  active  as  well  as  a  passive  atti- 
tude to  other  selves,  a  relation  of  faith  or  will,  as  well  as 
an  emotional  relation  of  fear  or  gratitude.  This  active 
acknowledgment  of  loyalty  or  faith  is  the  second  charac- 
teristic phase  of  religious  experience.  It  may  be  touched 
by  emotion,  yet  it  is  sometimes  an  utterly  unemotional 
acknowledgment  of  the  divine  self,  a  submission  to  what 
one  conceives  to  be  his  will,  an  adoption  of  what  one  looks 
upon  as  his  ideal,  a  resolute  loyalty  unlighted  by  emotion, 
supported  only  by  a  sober  and  perhaps  rather  dreary  con- 
viction of  duty.  It  may  be  questioned  whether  there  is  a 
more  heroic  type  of  religious  experience,  than  just  this 
cold  adoption  of  what  one  conceives  to  be  the  right  rela- 
tion to  God. 

We  are  thus  brought,  face  to  face,  with  the  significant 
problem  regarding  the  connection  between  the  religions 
and  the  ethical  experience.  Our  definition  of  religion,  as 
relation  of  the  human  self  to  the  divine,  provides  us  with 
a  standard  by  which  to  test  the  frequent  claim  that  moral- 
ity is  religion.  This  claim  is  often  strongly  opposed  on 
historical  grounds.  It  is  pointed  out  that  primitive  reli- 
gions are  full  of  positively  immoral  customs  and  rites,  that 
the  Borneans,  for  example,  gain  new  spirits  by  head- 
hunting, and  that  the  Oceanians  have  a  god  of  thieving,  to 
whom  they  offer  a  bit  of  their  booty,  bribing  him  to  secrecy 
with  such  words  as  these  :  "  Here  is  a  bit  of  the  pig ;  take 
it,  good  Hiero,  and  say  nothing  of  it."  ^  Such  an  argument, 
however,  is  inadequate,  no  matter  how  firmly  established 
the  facts  on  which  it  is  based.  For  though  Borneans  and 
Oceanians  and  all  other  savage  people  perform  acts,  which 
we  call  wrong,  as  parts  of  their  religious  observance,  it  may 
be  that  they  do  not  thereby  violate  their  own  moral  codes. 

The  opposition  between  religion  and  morality  lies  deeper. 
The  religious  experience  is  fundamentally  a  consciousness 

1  Cf,  Ratzel,  "  History  of  Mankind,"  Vol.  I.,  p.  304. 


328  Religion  and  ^Esthetic  DclicrJit 


of  God  or  of  gods,  a  realized  relation  of  the  worshipper  to 
a  spirit  or  to  spirits,  who  are  greater  than  he  and  greater 
also  than  his  fellow-men.  The  moral  consciousness,  on 
the  other  hand,  is,  as  we  shall  see,  a  form  of  the  social 
consciousness,  a  man's  recognition  of  his  place  in  the  whole 
inter-related  organism  of  human  beings.  Now,  just  as  any- 
human  relation  is  incomplete  and  unworthy,  if  it  lacks  the 
moral  experience,  that  is,  the  consciousness  of  obligation 
toward  another  self,  so  the  religious  consciousness  is  super- 
ficial, unhealthy  and  fragmentary,  if  it  does  not  include  the 
acknowledgment  of  duty  toward  God.  But  though  reli- 
gion without  morality  is  ethically  degrading,  it  is  none  the 
less  religion.  Any  conscious  relation  to  God,  however 
low  and  lifeless,  however  destitute  of  moral  responsibility,  is 
religion  ;  and  no  morality,  however  sublime,  no  life,  how- 
ever noble,  is  religious,  if  it  lack  this  conscious  relation  to 
God.  It  follows,  of  course,  that  a  bad  man  may  be  reli- 
gious and  that  a  good  man  may  lack  the  consciousness  of 
his  relation  to  God.  Undoubtedly,  therefore,  certain  ethical 
systems  are  better  and  safer  guides  than  certain  religious 
creeds.  Religion,  however,  is  not  and  cannot  be  moral- 
ity, simply  because  religion  is,  and  morality  is  not,  a  con- 
scious relation  of  human  self  to  the  divine. 

The  aesthetic,  almost  as  frequently  as  the  moral,  experi- 
ence is  mistaken  for  religion.  The  profound  emotion,  with 
which  one  falls  upon  one's  knees  with  the  throng  of  wor- 
shippers in  a  great  cathedral,  is  named  religious  awe,  though 
it  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  what  Du  Maurier  calls  mere  'sen- 
suous attendrisscmcnt.'  The  stately  proportions  of  nave 
and  transept,  the  severe  beauty  of  pillar  and  arch,  the 
rich  coloring  of  stained  glass,  the  thrilling  sounds  of  the 
organ  and  the  heavy  odor  of  the  incense  may  hold  one's 
whole  soul  enthralled,  and  leave  no  room  for  the  realiza- 
tion of  any  personal  attitude,  to  a  God  who  is  in  or  behind 
all  this  beauty.  In  the  same  way,  the  absorbed  study  of 
nature  beauty  is  a  self-forgetful,  but  not,  for  that  reason,  a 
religious  experience, 


Religion  and  Belief  329 

This  teaching,  it  must  be  admitted,  is  in  opposition  to  the 
modern  tendency  to  class  experiences  as  rehgious  if  they 
do  not  deal  directly  with  material  needs  and  conditions. 
But  the  very  breadth  and  comprehensiveness  of  these  con- 
ceptions make  them,  in  the  writer's  opinion,  valueless.  It 
is  indeed  true  that  the  religious,  the  ethical  and  the  aes- 
thetic consciousness  are  alike,  in  that  they  are,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  altruistic  rather  than  merely  egoistic  ex- 
periences. It  is,  however,  misleading  to  confuse  relations 
wdiich,  though  similar  in  one  respect,  are  none  the  less 
sharply  distinguished. 

Our  study  of  the  religious  experience  has  not  yet  even 
named  what  is  ordinarily  accounted  its  most  important  fac- 
tor :  the  conviction  of  God's  reality,  or  —  as  it  is  commonly 
called  —  belief.  The  truth  is  that  belief,  in  this  sense,  is 
not  a  part  of  any  personal  experience,  that  is,  of  any  rela- 
tion of  one  self  with  another.  We  are  not  occupied,  in  our 
personal  relationships,  with  reflections  upon  one  another's 
reality  :  we  merely  like  or  dislike  each  other,  and  are  loyal 
or  imperious.  We  may,  to  be  sure,  be  conscious  of  the 
reality  of  God  and  of  our  human  fellows,  but  this  reflection 
upon  reahty  is  usually  a  phase  of  the  philosophical  con- 
sciousness, and  not  even  an  ingredient  of  the  religious 
experience.  Certainly,  a  bare  conviction  of  the  actual  ex- 
istence of  another  self,  human  or  divine,  by  whom  one  does 
not  feel  oneself  affected,  to  whom  one  is  utterly  unrelated, 
is  not  a  personal  experience  at  all.  A  belief  of  the  reality  of 
President  Steyn  of  the  Orange  Free  State  is  no  personal  re- 
lation with  him ;  and  the  mere  persuasion  that  there  exists 
a  Supreme  Being  does  not  constitute  a  rehgious  experience. 

But  though  the  conviction  of  reality  does  not  enter  into 
the  immediateness  of  the  personal  experience,  it  is  evident 
that  no  relationship  with  God  is  possible,  to  one  who  is  dis- 
tinctly convinced  that  there  is  no  God.  Some  degree  of 
the  conviction  of  God's  reality  must,  therefore,  form  the 
background  of  every  religious  experience,  except  the  primi- 
tive personal  relation  in -which  one  neither  questions  nor 


330  The  Religious  Consciousness 

believes.^  But  this  sense  of  God's  reality  has  unsuspected 
gradations  of  assurance,  lying  between  the  extremes  of 
doubt  and  reasoned  conviction.  The  consciousness  of 
God's  reality  may  attain  the  completeness  of  philosophical 
dogma,  but  it  may,  on  the  other  hand,  be  incomplete  and 
illogical ;  it  may  be  firmly  held  or  it  may  be  feeble  and 
vacillating.  For  the  truth  is,  as  we  have  seen,  that  this 
consciousness  of  reality  is,  at  most,  a  secondary  and  unem- 
phasizcd  part  of  rcHgious  experience  ;  and  reHgion  is,  as  we 
cannot  too  often  repeat,  a  relation  with  God,  like  our  rela- 
tions with  our  fellow-men. 

A  crabbed  Devon  peasant,  who  figures  in  a  recent  novel, 
has  expressed  this  conception  of  religion  in  striking  and 
unconventional  terms :  "  As  to  the  A'mighty,  my  rule's 
to  treat  Un  the  same  as  he  treats  me  —  same  as  we'm 
taught  to  treat  any  other  neighbor.  That's  fair  if  you  ax 
me.  ...  If  God  sends  gude  things,  I'm  fust  to  thank  Un 
'pon  my  bended  knees,  and  hope  respectful  for  long  con- 
tinuance ;  if  he  sends  bad,  then  I  cool  off  and  wait  for  bet- 
ter times.  ...  No  song,  no  supper,  as  the  saying  is. 
Ban't  my  way  to  turn  left  cheek  to  Jehovah  Jireh,  after 
he's  smote  me  upon  the  right.  'Tis  contrary  to  human 
nature.  .  .  .  When  the  Lard's  hand's  light  on  me  I  go 
dancin'  and  frohckin'  afore  him  like  to  David  afore  the 
Ark  .  .  .  but  when  He'm  contrary  with  me  and  minded  to 
blaw  hot  and  cold  from  no  fault  o'  mine,  —  why,  dammy,  I 
get  contrary  too  .  .  ." 

Such  a  religious  experience  may  well  be  criticised,  on 
the  ground  that  it  makes  no  distinction  between  human 
and  divine,  but  it  does  not  lack  what  the  soi-disant  religious 
consciousness,  aesthetic  or  ethical,  always  misses,  a  robust 
personal  experience  of  God.  "  Herein,"  as  Fichte  says, 
"religion  doth  consist,  that  man  in  his  own  person  and 
not  in  that  of  another,  with  his  own  spiritual  eye  and  not 
through  that  of  another,  should  immediately  behold,  have 
and  possess  God." 

1  Cf.  Chapter  IX.,  p.  126. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE    SOCIAL   CONSCIOUSNESS 

In  this  chapter,  as  in  the  last,  self-consciousness  is  dis- 
cussed, not  primarily  from  the  standpoint  of  one's  own  sub- 
jective attitude  —  active  or  passive,  imperious  or  adoptive 
—  but  with  special  regard  to  the  nature  of  that  other  self, 
with  whom  one  feels  oneself  related.  The  *  other  self,' 
whom  this  chapter  considers,  is  no  single  self,  but  a  com- 
posite self  or  group  of  selves.  To  the  recognition  of  a 
group  or  circle  of  selves,  the  term  'social  consciousness', 
is  usually  applied,  in  a  narrower  and  more  technical  sense 
than  that  in  which  we  have  heretofore  called  the  con- 
sciousness of  any  other  self,  even  of  a  single  self,  a  social 
consciousness. 

All  social  groups  are  characterized  by  their  imitativeness, 
so  that  a  modern  sociologist,  Tarde,  has  defined  society  as 
a  circle  of  imitation.  We  shall  later  find  reason  to  supple- 
ment this  definition :  let  us  for  the  present  reflect  on  the 
truth  which  it  contains.  If  we  try  to  discover  how  many 
of  our  daily  acts  are  repetitions  of  those  of  other  people, 
we  shall  perhaps  be  surprised  at  our  conclusion.  We  rise, 
breakfast,  travel  by  car  or  by  train,  enter  workroom  or 
office  or  shop,  work  behind  machine  or  counter  or  desk, 
lunch,  work  again,  return  to  our  houses,  dine,  amuse 
ourselves  and  sleep ;  and  innumerable  other  people,  near 
and  far,  are  also  breakfasting,  travelling,  working,  dining 
and  sleeping. 

Yet  we  are  in  error  if  we  reckon  all  these  repeated  ac- 
tivities as  imitations.  An  absolutely  isolated  individual, 
without  opportunity  to  imitate  any  one,  would  nevertheless 

331 


332  TJie  Social  Consciousness 

eat  and  sleep  and  move  about.  An  imitation  is  an  act  or 
a  conscious  experience,  conditioned  by  another,  or  by 
others,  similar  to  it.  Repeated  activities  are  not,  then,  of 
necessity,  imitations,  but  may  be  independent  expressions 
of  an  individual,  though  common,  instinct. 

When,  however,  we  weed  out  from  the  tangle  of  our 
repeated  acts,  those  acts  which  are  mere  instinctive  or  else 
accidental  repetitions,  a  goodly  growth  of  these  imitative 
actions  still  remains.  For  example,  though  we  sleep,  not 
because  others  do,  but  because  of  the  conditions  of  our 
individual  bodies,  yet  we  sleep  on  the  ground  or  on  beds, 
and  from  eight  o'clock  till  five,  or  from  dawn  till  noon, 
simply  because  the  people  who  educated  us  and  the  peo- 
ple who  surround  us  do  the  same.  So  we  eat,  not  because 
others  eat,  but  to  satisfy  individual  needs,  yet  we  eat 
tallow  or  rice  or  terrapin,  we  eat  with  our  fingers  or  with 
chop-sticks  or  with  forks,  and  we  eat  from  the  ground, 
from  mats  or  from'  tables,  partly  because  people  have 
taught  us  these  ways,  and  partly  because  these  are  the 
manners  of  those  about  us.  Again,  our  wanderings  from 
place  to  place  are  un-imitative,  instinctive  activities,  but 
the  manner  of  our  travelhng,  on  horseback,  on  bicycles 
or  by  automobile,  is,  oftener  than  we  think,  a  caprice  of 
fashion. 

The  list  of  our  imitative  acts  is  scarcely  begun.  The 
root  words  of  a  language,  except  such  as  are  instinctive 
vocal  outcries,  are  imitations  of  nature  sounds,^  and  lan- 
guage is  always  acquired  by  imitation.  People  speak 
Enghsh  or  Dutch  or  Portuguese  not  accidentally  —  as  the 
child  suggested,  who  feared  that  his  baby  brother  might 
speak  German,  in  place  of  English  —  but  through  imita- 
tion of  the  people  about  us.  Our  handwriting  is  an  imi- 
tation of  our  teacher's,  and  the  earliest  handwriting  was 
abbreviated  from  the  pictured  imitation  of  natural  objects. 
We  bow  to  each  other  instead  of  rubbing  noses,  we  lace 

1  Cf.  Bibliography, 


The  Mob  Consciotisness  333 

on  calf  boots  instead  of  binding  on  sandals,  we  read  and 
write  short  stories  instead  of  three-volumed  romances,  we 
revel  in  sociological  heroines  in  place  of  romantic  ones, 
and  we  stndy  psychical  research  and  no  longer  burn 
witches.  But  all  these  acts,  ideals  and  tendencies  are 
directly  due  to  custom  or  fashion,  that  is,  to  imitation. 
We  do  and  think  all  these  things  and  scores  of  others, 
because  others  act  and  think  in  these  ways. 

I.     Forms  of  Social  Consciousness 

This  preliminary  illustration  of  the  wide  extent  of  imita- 
tion is  a  fitting  introduction  to  our  study  of  the  social 
consciousness.  The  social  consciousness  has  two  forms  or 
stages,  of  which  the  first  is  fairly  well  described  as  the  mob- 
consciousness  ;  for  the  second,  there  is  no  adequate  name, 
and  we  shall  somewhat  awkwardly  call  it  the  reflectively 
social  consciousness.  The  crowd,  or  mob,  is  a  group  of 
selves,  of  whom  each  one  imitates  the  external  acts  and 
the  unreflective  consciousness  of  the  others.  The  mob, 
however,  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  the  social  psychologist,  is 
consciously  imitative.  It  is  probably  true,  to  be  sure,  that 
mob-actions  may  be  unconsciously  performed.  The  most 
serious-minded  may  be  carried  out  of  bounds  at  an  exciting 
football  game,  and  may  wake  up  to  find  that,  quite  uncon- 
sciously, he  has  himself  joined  lustily  in  ear-splitting  yells 
during  several  mad  minutes.  But  this  unconsciously 
active  mob  is  the  concern  of  the  sociologist.  The  social 
psychologist's  interest  is  limited  to  the  group  of  people 
who  realize  their  imitativeness,  who  are  conscious,  how- 
ever vaguely,  of  shared  experiences  and  actions,  who  know 
that  they  are  joining  the  shout  of  a  thousand  voices,  or  that 
they  are  rushing  on  in  a  great,  moving  mass  of  people. 
Such  vague  social  consciousness  the  people  of  the  mob 
almost  always  possess. 

We  have  next  to  remark  the  strict  limitations  of  the 
mob-consciousness.    The  individuals  who  compose  it  share 


334  ^^^^  Mob  Coiiscio7isness 

each  other's  perceptual  and  emotional  experience,  but  their 
actions  are  too  precipitate  to  admit  time  for  thought,  and 
they  are  too  deeply  swayed  by  emotion,  to  be  capable 
of  loyalty  or  of  deliberate  will.  The  mob-consciousness  is 
not  only  fundamentally  imitative,  but  utterly  lacking  in 
deliberation  and  reflection,  and  it  is  therefore  capricious 
and  fantastic.  For  this  reason,  the  acts  of  a  mob  are 
absolutely  unpredictable,  since  they  spring  from  the  emo- 
tions, notably  the  most  temporary  of  our  subjective  at- 
titudes. The  fickleness  of  the  crowd  is,  therefore,  its 
traditional  attribute  ;  the  mob  which  has  cried  aloud  for 
the  republic  rends  the  air  with  its  Vive  le  Roi,  and  the 
Dantons  and  Robespierres,  who  have  been  leaders  of  the 
crowd,  become  its  victims. 

What  is  sometimes  called  the  insanity  of  a  mob  is  in 
reality,  therefore,  a  psychological,  not  a  pathological,  phe- 
nomenon. Every  emotion  and  passion  gains  strength  as  it 
is  shared,  and  is  characterized  by  reactions  of  increasing 
vigor.  The  accelerated  force  of  primitive  emotions,  shared 
by  scores  and  hundreds  of  people,  is  for  a  time  irresistible, 
the  more  so,  because  both  emotions  and  the  acts  which  go 
with  them  are  unchecked  by  reasoning  or  by  deliberation. 
No  one  supposes  that  the  crew  of  the  Boiirgogne  deliber- 
ately trampled  women  down,  in  an  effort  to  reach  the 
boats.  No  one  imagines  that  the  Akron  mob  would  have 
set  fire  to  the  public  buildings,  when  they  knew  that  the 
man  whom  they  sought  had  escaped,  had  they  reasoned 
the  matter  out.  Seamen  and  citizens  alike  were  a  prey  to 
elemental  passions  uncontrolled  by  deliberation. 

The  activities  of  a  mob  may,  none  the  less,  be  construc- 
tive as  well  as  destructive,  ideal  as  well  as  material.  Gus- 
tave  le  Bon,  a  brilliant  French  writer,  lays  great  stress 
on  the  capacity  of  a  mob  to  perform  capriciously  generous 
deeds  as  well  as  cruel  ones ;  and  he  instances  the  crusades 
as  example  of  a  great  altruistic  mob-movement.  "  A 
crowd,"  Le  Bon  says,  "may  be  guilty  of  every  kind  of 
crime,  but  it  is  also  capable  of  loftier  acts  than  those  of 


The  Suggestibility  of  the  Mob  335 

which  the  isolated  individual  is  capable."  It  is,  however, 
perfectly  unequal  to  any  logical  conclusions,  any  reasoned 
acts,  any  purposed,  planned  or  deUberately  chosen  per- 
formance. Whether  it  drive  the  tumbril  or  rescue  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  its  action  is  purely  emotional  and  capri- 
cious, and  it  takes  its  cue  unreflectively  from  the  leader  of 
the  moment,  for  "  a  man  .  .  .  isolated  .  .  .  may  be  a 
cultivated  individual  ;  ip'^xrowd  he  is  a  barbarian." 

The  suggestibility  of  a  crowd  is  so  well  marked,  that  it 
is  regarded  by  certain  writers  ^  as  a  form  of  hypnotization. 
This  suggestibility  extends  even  to  the  sense-experiences 
of  the  crowd,  which  is,  therefore,  subject  to  actual  sense- 
illusions.  Le  Bon  brings  forward  instance  after  instance  of 
these  collective  illusions,  for  example,  the  phantom  raft,  seen 
by  the  whole  crew  of  the  Belle  Poiile,  and  the  St.  George 
who  appeared  on  the  walls  of  Jerusalem  to  all  the  crusaders. 

Many  modern  writers,  Le  Bon  among  them,  believe 
that  the  crowd  or  mob  is  the  only  social  group.  They 
thus  completely  identify  the  crowd  with  'society,'  teaching 
that  the  mob-consciousness  is  the  only  type  of  social  con- 
sciousness. From  this  doctrine,  we  have  good  reason  to 
dissent  most  emphatically,  for  we  clearly  find  in  human 
experience  what  has  been  named  the  reflective  social  con- 
sciousness. We  shall  try  to  illustrate  and  later  to  define  it. 
We  may  compare,  for  example,  the  reflective  national  con- 
sciousness with  mob-patriotism.  We  are  all  familiar  with 
the  mob-activities  of  so-called  patriotism  :  the  shouts,  the 
fire-crackers,  the  flag-wavings.  They  are  all  a  part  of  the 
contagious  feeling  and  action  of  a  lot  of  consciously,  but 
unreflectively,  imitative  selves.  A  reflective  national  con- 
sciousness is  an  utterly  different  sort  of  experience.  The 
possessor  of  it  has  certain  deep-seated  social  conceptions, 
ideals  and  purposes  ;  these  have  their  significance  to  him 
as  shared  with  a  group   of   selves,  who    are   consciously 

1  Cf.  Boris  Sidis,  "The  Psychology  of  Suggestion." 


336         The  Reflective  Social  Consciousness 

related  with  himself  and  with  each  other.  These  principles 
and  ideals  would  be  meaningless  to  the  reflectively  social 
individual,  if  they  were  merely  his  own.  Yet  he  individu- 
ally adopts  and  promulgates  them,  and  he  acts  them  out 
at  the  primaries,  at  the  polls  and  in  public  office.  Such  a 
reflective  national  consciousness  may  well  be  emotional, 
but  it  is  not  purely  emotional,  and  its  emotional  attitudes 
are  constant,  not  temporary  and  capricious. 

Different  forms  of  college  spirit  illustrate  the  same 
distinction.  To  cheer  oneself  hoarse  at  the  athletic  meet, 
and  to  join  the  men  who  carry  the  hero  of  the  games  in 
triumph  from  the  field,  may  be  a  mere  manifestation  of 
mob-consciousness,  an  unreasoned,  unpurposed  wave  of 
feeling,  which  carries  one  off  one's  feet  in  the  contagion 
of  a  great  enthusiasm.  But  there  is  also  a  deliberate 
college  spirit.  The  student  is  profoundly  conscious  that 
his  pursuit  of  a  well-shaped,  academic  course,  of  a  life  of 
close  social  affiliations,  and  of  an  honorable  college  degree, 
is  the  aim  of  hundreds  of  other  students.  He  realizes  that 
he  is  imitating  and,  in  some  ways,  leading  them,  and  that 
they  are  both  imitators  and  leaders  of  each  other  and  of 
him.  He  more  or  less  clearly  recognizes  that  his  advance 
is  an  alternate  imitation  of  his  teachers  and  his  fellows, 
and  a  reaction  against  them.  His  degree  has  a  purely 
social  value  dependent  on  other  people's  estimate  of  it. 
In  a  word,  his  college  life  is  consciously  and  reflectively 
social. 

Our  illustrations  have  paved  the  way  for  our  definition 
of  the  reflectively  social  consciousness,  as  (i)  the  reflective 
adoption  of,  or  domination  over,  the  external  activities  and 
the  conscious  experience  of  other  selves,  who  (2)  are  re- 
garded as  forming  a  social  group.  Such  a  group  of  reflec- 
tively social  persons  may  be  called  '  society  '  in  contrast 
with  the  crowd  or  mob.^ 

The  best  way,  in  which  to  bring  out  the  meaning  of  this 

1  Cf.  Baldwin,  "  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,"  Chapter  XII. 


The  Reflective  Social  Consciousness         337 

somewhat  abstractly  worded  definition,  is  to  contrast  the 
reflecting  social  consciousness  with  the  mob-consciousness, 
in  more  detail.  The  most  fundamental  characteristic  of 
the  reflective  social  experience  may  be  thus  described :  the 
reflectively  social  person  realizes  that  his  own  conscious- 
ness and  his  acts  are  imitations  of  the  other  members  of 
his  social  group  or  are  models  for  them  ;  he  realizes,  also, 
that  the  consciousness  and  the  actions  of  every  other  mem- 
ber of  the  group  are,  similarly,  either  patterned  on  the  feel- 
ings and  deeds  of  the  others  or  else  suggestive  of  their 
experiences  and  activities.  One  consciously  imitates, 
opposes  or  leads  others,  with  the  consciousness  that  they 
are  similarly  related  to  oneself  and  to  each  other.  This 
recognition  of  social  relations  is  evidently  a  reflective  and 
deliberate  affair,  and  forms  no  part  at  all  of  the  mob-con- 
sciousness. The  individual  in  the  crowd,  though  he  may 
indeed  have  the  vague  feeling  of  companionship,  does  not 
know  that  his  acts  are  the  result  of  social  contagion.  If 
you  ask  him  why  he  shouts,  or  rescues,  or  kills,  he  tells 
you  that  he  cannot  help  it ;  and  he  is  right,  for  imitation 
is  an  unreasoning  instinct,  and  although  his  acts  are  in- 
fluenced by  those  of  the  group  to  which  he  belongs  and 
by  the  acts  of  their  common  leader,  yet  he  does  not 
reason  about  this  imitativeness  or  clearly  realize  it.  The 
reflectively  social  individual,  on  the  other  hand,  is  pro- 
foundly conscious  of  the  influences,  the  imitations  and  the 
counter  imitations,  of  the  social  organization.  The  reflec- 
tively social  consciousness  may  be,  in  the  second  place, 
deliberate  as  well  as  immediate,  thoughtful  as  well  as 
emotional.  This  is  its ,  most  obvious  distinction  from  the 
mob-consciousness,  to  which  it  is  likely  at  any  moment  to 
give  place.  The  legislative  assembly  or  committee  meet- 
ing, as  it  should  be,  is  a  manifestation  of  the  reflective 
social  consciousness,  not  swayed  by  the  feeling  of  the 
moment,  but  carefully  reasoning,  deliberately  adopting 
this  or  that  recommendation,  and  passing  motions  only 
after  long  consideration.  The  assembly  or  meeting,  as  it 
z 


338         The  Reflective  Social  Consciousness 

actually  is,  is  often  enough  a  frenzied  mob  in  which  passion 
excites  passion,  and  deliberation  is  an  unattainable  ideal. 

The  reflective  social  consciousness  is,  finally,  no  longer 
merely  imitative.  The  reflectively  social  person  is  aware 
of  his  power  to  lead,  as  well  as  of  his  capacity  to  follow. 
This  tendency  of  the  developed  social  consciousness  has 
been  greatly  underemphasized.  Tarde,  for  example,  as 
has  already  been  said,  believes  that  the  essential  nature 
of  society  is  imitativeness.  "Socialite,"  he  says,i  "  c'est 
I'imitativite."  It  is  perfectly  evident  that  this  definition 
leaves  out  of  account  the  characteristic  attitude  of  the 
leader  of  society.  Even  those  who  have  confused  society 
with  the  mob  have  been  the  first  to  acknowledge  the  leader 
as  related  to  the  mob,  yet  not  a  member  of  it.  "  A  crowd," 
Le  Bon  declares,^  "  is  a  servile  flock  —  incapable  of  ever 
doing  without  a  master."  In  truth,  however  wide  the  place 
we  make  for  imitation  as  a  social  function,  it  can  never  dis- 
place spontaneity  and  leadership.  The  charge  is  lost  when 
the  officer  falls,  and  the  mob  disperses  when  its  leader 
wavers.  Customs  and  conventions  and  fashions  are  imita- 
tions which  are  dominated  by  invention,  and  every  institu- 
tion is,  as  Emerson  said,  'the  lengthened  shadow  of  a  man.' 

Nobody  can  deny  that  these  masters  of  men,  these  cap- 
tains of  industry,  these  world  conquerors,  are  men  possessed 
of  social  consciousness.  We  certainly  cannot  attribute  so- 
cial feeling  to  the  Old  Guard  and  deny  it  to  Napoleon. 
We  cannot  assert  that  the  doers  of  the  law  have  a  realiza- 
tion of  a  public  self,  society,  and  that  the  makers  of  the 
law  are  without  it.  The  sense  of  moulding  the  common 
purpose,  of  inflaming  the  public  feeling,  and  of  inciting 
a  group  of  selves  to  imitative  action,  is  as  truly  a  social 
consciousness  as  the  realization  that  one  is  imitating  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  and  acts  of  a  group  of  similarly 
imitative  selves,  at  the  inspiration  of  the  same  leader. 


^  Cf.  "  Les  Lois  de  I'lmitation,"  p.  75. 
^  "The  Psychology  of  the  Crowd,"  p.  113. 


Social  Leadership  339 

This  dominating  phase  of  the  reflectively  social  con- 
sciousness does  not  belong  to  the  great  leaders  and  masters 
only.  On  the  contrary,  every  reflectively  social  individual 
may  assume  the  dominating,  imperious  attitude,  as  well  as 
the  imitative,  acknowledging  attitude.  Anybody  may, 
moreover,  adopt  this  position  not  only  toward  individuals 
but  toward  society  —  the  reflectively  social  group  whose 
members  are  reahzed  as  either  imitative  of  each  other 
or  as  dominating  each  other.  The  consciousness  of  this 
imperious  attitude  lies  at  the  basis  of  what  is  known  as 
the  realization  of  one's  moral  influence.  One  may  go  to 
religious  services  and  observe  church  festivals,  not  as  a 
personal  duty,  but  because  one  believes  the  observances 
socially  valuable,  and  is  conscious  of  one's  actions  as  likely 
to  influence  other  people's.  More  than  this,  as  our  study 
of  will  has  suggested, 1  a  dominating,  not  an  imitative, 
attitude  toward  society  is  entirely  possible  when  one  is 
not  master  of  a  situation,  and  when,  rather,  one  is  leading 
a  forlorn  hope  or,  single-handed,  defying  a  mob.  Thus, 
the  experience  of  Sokrates  was  profoundly  social  when,  in 
the  Heliastic  Court,  he  stood  alone  for  a  legal  trial  of  the 
generals  of  yEgospotami,  while  the  Athenians,  beside  them- 
selves with  horror  over  the  unburied  crews,  were  crying 
out  for  quick  vengeance  on  the  leaders  of  that  luckless 
sea-fight.  Certainly  Sokrates  was  conscious  of  himself  as 
opposing,  not  a  single  man  nor  any  fortuitous  aggregate, 
but  all  Athens,  a  composite,  group-self,  whose  members 
were  being  swept  on  in  a  universal  passion  to  a  common 
crime. 

II.    Imitation  and  Opposition 

It  is  vitally  important,  as  has  been  said,  to  keep  in  mind 
that  imitation  and  opposition  are  no  newly  discovered  ten- 
dencies, which  hold  true  only  of  the  social,  not  of  the 
individual,  experience.     On  the  other  hand,  they  are  mere 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XXL,  p.  308. 


340  Imitation 

manifestations  of  adoptiveness  and  imperioiisness,  which 
are  the  underlying  attitudes  of  all  self-consciousness.  This 
will  become  clearer  if  we  study  the  two,  imitation  and 
inventiveness,  in  more  detail,  regarding  them  not  only  as 
relations  of  an  individual  to  a  social  group,  but  as  relations 
of  one  individual,  to  another. 

Two  forms  of  imitation  are  socially  significant :  fashion, 
or  imitation  of  the  present,  of  contemporary  selves  and 
facts,  and  tradition,  or  imitation  of  the  past,  of  one's 
ancestors,  their  thoughts  and  their  acts.  In  Paris,  for 
instance,  dress  is  regulated  by  fashion,  which  changes  with 
every  season,  and  every  woman  therefore  dresses  as  her 
neighbor  does.  In  Brittany,  dress  is  a  tradition,  and  every 
woman  dresses  as  her  great-grandmother  did  ;  the  pay- 
sanne,  who  moves  from  one  province  to  another,  tranquilly, 
and  as  a  matter  of  course,  wears  a  coiffe  which  is  as  tall 
as  that  of  the  neighborhood  is  broad,  as  pointed  as  that 
is  square,  as  unadorned  as  that  is  richly  embroidered. 
This  adherence  to  tradition  as  opposed  to  custom  is  the 
real  distinction  between  conservative  and  radical.  The 
latter  need  not  himself  be  original  and  inventive,  but  he 
is  friendly  to  innovation  and  receptive  of  the  customs  of 
his  contemporaries ;  he  breaks  with  the  past  and  allies 
himself  with  the  present ;  whereas  the  conservative  clings 
to  the  past  and  imitates  the  traditional  observance. 

The  second  of  the  ordinary  distinctions  is  that  between 
physical  and  psychic  imitation,  imitation  of  movement  and 
imitation  of  emotion  or  idea.  Uniformities  of  movement 
—  for  example,  those  of  a  military  drill  —  are  illustrations 
of  the  first  class,  and  fashions  in  creed  or  in  theory,  such  as 
the  evolution  hypothesis  or  the  modern  theory  of  training 
children  on  lines  of  their  own  spontaneous  interest,  are 
instances  of  the  second  sort.  The  usual  order  is  from 
outward  to  inward  imitation.  One  adopts  a  tight  sleeve, 
for  example,  or  a  fad  in  visiting  cards,  in  mechanical  imita- 
tion of  the  people  about  one,  privately  believing  that  the 
sleeve  is  hideous  and  that  the  custom  is  senseless.      Little 


Imitation  34 1 

by  little,  however,  one  follows  the  fashion  of  thought  as 
well  as  the  outward  custom,  and  comes  to  believe  sincerely 
that  the  dress  which  seemed  grotesque  is  a  model  of  the 
beautiful,  and  that  the  convention  which  appeared  absurd 
is  a  bulwark  of  society. 

The  truth,  however,  is  that  conscious  imitation  is  only 
secondarily  of  idea  or  of  act.  Primarily  and  fundamen- 
tally, it  is  a  richly  personal  experience,  the  imitation  of 
other  self  or  of  other  selves,  of  individual  or  of  social 
group, —  a  conscious  attempt  to  make  oneself  into  this 
fascinating  personality  or  to  become  one  of  this  attractive 
circle.  So  the  child  imitates  his  father's  stride,  because  it 
is  his  father's,  not  from  any  intrinsic  interest  in  the  move- 
ment in  itself,  and  he  is  fiercely  Republican  because  his 
father  belongs  to  the  Republican  party,  not  because  he 
himself  inclines  toward  these  principles  rather  than  toward 
others.  The  Hfe  of  the  child  shows  most  clearly,  indeed, 
the  intensely  personal  nature  of  imitation.  The  develop- 
ment of  his  own  personality  is,  as  Royce  has  shown, ^  by 
the  successive  assumption  of  other  people's  personality. 
Now,  he  imitates,  or  throws  himself  into,  the  life  of  the 
adventurer,  he  adopts  the  role  of  the  cow-boy,  not  merely 
in  his  plays,  from  the  back  of  his  spirited  rocking-horse, 
but  in  his  daily  walk  and  conversation.  A  little  later,  his 
ideals  are  incarnated  in  the  persons  of  military  heroes  : 
you  will  find  him  gallantly  defending  the  pass  at  Ther- 
mopylae behind  a  breastwork  of  pillows,  or  sailing  into 
the  harbor  of  Santiago  on  a  precarious  ship  of  chairs;  he 
adopts  a  military  step,  organizes  his  companions  into  a 
regiment,  attempts  military  music  on  his  toy  trumpet, 
cultivates  in  himself,  and  demands  from  others,  the  military 
virtues  of  obedience  and  courage.  And,  in  all  this,  he  is 
primarily  imitating  people,  and  is  imitating  specific  acts 
and  ideals,  only  as  they  are  characteristic  of  these  people. 

One  need  not  turn,  indeed,  to  the  life  of  childhood,  for 

^  Century,  1S94. 


342  Imitation  and  Opposition 

illustration  of  the  fundamentally  personal  nature  of  imita- 
tion. For  there  surely  are  few  adults  whose  aims  are  not 
embodied  in  human  beings.  Whether  one's  ideal  is  that 
of  the  student,  the  physician  or  the  business  man,  it  stands 
out  before  one  most  clearly  in  the  figure  of  some  daring 
and  patient  scholar,  some  learned  and  sympathetic  physi- 
cian, some  alert  and  honorable  business  man.  One's 
effort  is  often  expHcitly,  and  almost  always  implicitly,  to 
be  Hke  this  ideal  self,  to  realize  in  oneself  his  outlook 
and  his  achievements ;  and  one  is  consciously  satisfied 
with  oneself  when  one  has  completed  an  investigation, 
made  a  diagnosis,  or  launched  a  business  enterprise  as  this 
ideal  self  might  have  done  it.  Our  moral  fife,  perhaps, 
offers  the  most  frequent  illustration  of  the  personal  char- 
acter of  imitation.  Our  ethical  ideals  live  in  the  person 
of  some  great  teacher,  and  our  moral  life  is  a  conscious 
effort  to  be  like  him ;  our  aims,  also,  are  set  before  us  as 
a  supreme  personal  ideal,  and  we  are  bidden  to  "  be  per- 
fect as  our  Father  in  Heaven  is  perfect." 

Leaving  imitation,  let  us  briefly  consider  the  main  forms 
of  the  contrasted  tendency.  We  have  already  named 
them  :  mere  opposition  to  act,  idea  or  self,  and  domination, 
expressed  or  unexpressed,  of  act,  idea  or  self.  In  its  sim- 
plest form,  '  opposition  '  manifests  itself  as  the  desire  to 
be  different.  Professor  Royce  is  probably  right  in  in- 
sisting 1  that  this  tendency  has  been  underrated,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  almost  exclusive  interest  of  the  sociologists 
in  the  function  of  imitation.  In  all  save  the  most  servile 
forms  of  the  social  consciousness,  there  is,  as  we  have  seen, 
alongside  of  the  impulse  to  follow  one's  neighbors,  the 
instinct  to  show  oneself  unlike  them,  or  —  as  the  impulse  is 
sometimes  formulated  —  to  show  one's  own  individuality. 
We  are  most  likely,  of  course,  to   find    opposition    '  writ 


'^Psychological  Review,   1898,  p.   1 13.      Cf.  a  letter   quoted  by   Baldwin, 
"  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,"  p.  233. 


opposition  and  Invention  343 

large '  in  the  actions  of  children.  But  the  mischief  of  a 
child  which  prompts  him  quite  wilfully  to  say  '  dog '  or 
'  cow '  when  he  knows  well  that  he  has  spelled  c-a-t,  to 
run  when  he  is  expected  to  walk  sedately,  and  to  talk  when 
silence  is  demanded,  is  merely  a  more  obvious  expression 
of  the  opposition  instinct,  which  lies  at  the  basis  of  all 
eccentricity  in  dress,  repartee  in  conversation  and  inven- 
tiveness in  science  or  in  art.  Throughout  these  varying 
manifestations,  we  may  descry  the  tendency  to  be  differ- 
ent, to  attain  what  Royce  calls  the  'contrast  effect,'  quite 
for  its  own  sake  and  without  effort  to  influence  other 
people.  In  this  way,  'opposition'  is  distinct  from  the 
kindred  form  of  domination,  or  command,  the  spirit  of  the 
leader  of  crowds  and  the  organizer  of  societies. 

But  whatever  the  stage  of  its  manifestations,  this  assert- 
ive tendency  is  never  to  be  designated  as  '  individual  and 
therefore  unsocial'  As  truly  as  imitation,  it  is  a  social 
attitude.  One  cannot  be  '  different '  unless  one  realizes 
the  selves  from  whom  one  differs,  one  cannot  show  one- 
self off  as  a  man  '  of  rare  wit,'  a  novelist  of  '  unusual  and 
elusive  subtlety  '  or  a  philosopher  of  epoch-making  origi- 
nality, without  a  realization  of  the  commonplace  social 
background,  against  which  one's  meteoric  brilliancy  is 
displayed. 

One  final  observation  is  of  great  importance.  It  is 
quite  inaccurate  to  separate  imitation  and  invention,  as  if 
some  people  and  some  achievements  were  imitative  and 
others  inventive.  The  truth  is  that  every  normal  person 
unites  in  himself,  in  varying  proportions,  these  two  funda- 
mental tendencies  of  consciousness.  Nobody  could  be 
'absolutely  original,  if  that  means  unimitative ;  and  con- 
versely, one  could  hardly  be  a  self  without  some  trace  of 
opposition  to  one's  environment.  Thus,  the  most  daring 
inventor  makes  use  of  the  old  principle,  and  the  most  orig- 
inal writer  is  imitative,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  using  lan- 
guage. On  the  other  hand,  few  copies  are  so  servile  that 
they  are  utterly  undistinguishable  from  the  model. 


344  Invention  and  Imitatioji 

The  intimate  union  of  the  two  tendencies  is  shown, 
also,  by  the  fact  that  the  usual  road  to  inventiveness  is 
through  imitation.  Sometimes,  indeed,  inventiveness  con- 
sists solely  in  the  selection  of  unusual  persons  or  ideas 
for  imitation.  So,  Marie  Antoinette  and  her  court  ladies, 
in  the  Petit  Trianon,  invented  a  brave  sport,  when  they 
gayly  imitated  the  milk-maids  ;  and  the  novelty  of  a  recent 
Newport  season  was  a  glorified  sort  of  haymakers'  din- 
ner. But  we  need  not  seek  our  illustrations  so  far  afield. 
Any  honest  effort  to  imitate  intelligently  must  result  in 
transformation  rather  than  in  mechanical  copying.  The 
healthy  mind  simply  cannot  follow  copy,  without  the  spon- 
taneous and  unexpected  occurrence  of  suggestions  for 
change  —  hot  air  instead  of  steam,  an  iambic  meter  in  place 
of  a  trochaic,  burnt  umber  rather  than  sienna,  or  zinc  solu- 
tion in  place  of  chloride.  It  matters  not  whether  we  work 
jat  machinery,  at  poetry,  at  painting  or  at  chemistry:  we 
all  become  inventive  by  trying  to  imitate.  A  curious,  yet 
common,  result  of  this  relation  is  the  inventor's  inability  to 
realize  the  extent  of  the  changes  which  he  brings  about. 
Fichte,  for  example,  supposed  that  he  was  merely  ex- 
pounding Kant,  until  Kant  disclaimed  the  exposition  and 
stamped  Fichte's  doctrine  as  an  injurious  and  heretical 
system  of  thought. 

It  may  be  shown,  finally,  that  successful  inventions  are 
always  based  on  imitation,  and  that  effective  imitations  are 
always  touched  with  inventiveness.  The  well-dressed 
person  neither  defies  fashion  nor  follows  it  to  its  last 
extreme ;  in  general  outline  he  conforms,  but  in  well- 
chosen  detail  he  is  law  unto  himself.  In  the  artistic  din- 
ner, the  procession  of  the  courses  does  not  deviate  from 
the  traditional  order,  and  one  is  able  to  identify  the  dishes 
of  which  one  partakes,  yet,  here  and  there  —  in  a  rare 
combination  of  delicate  flavors  or  in  an  unconventional 
arrangement  of  the  flowers  —  the  skill  of  the  inventor 
betrays  itself.  So,  the  successful  conversationalist  is 
neither  slavishly  imitative    nor  eccentric  to  the  point  of 


Invention  and  Iniiiation  345 

wearying  his  friends.  For  though  one  can  barely  survive 
an  hour,  in  company  with  the  amiable  person  who  echoes 
all  that  one  says,  yet  one  retreats,  battle-sore,  froir.  an 
encounter  with  the  original  talker,  who  is  wont  to  treat  the 
most  commonplace  remark  as  a  challenge  to  mortal  com- 
bat or,  at  the  least,  as  a  target  for  repartee. 

We  have  seen  that  only  the  inventive  imitation  and  the 
imitative  invention  are  valued  and  appreciated.  It  is  also 
true  that  the  practically  successful,  that  is,  the  permanent 
innovation,  is  the  one  which  can  be  readily  imitated.  The 
inventor  of  machinery,  so  complicated  that  the  common 
man  cannot  use  it,  will  not  succeed  in  introducing  his 
machines,  and  the  promulgator  of  doctrine,  so  profound 
that  few  men  can  apprehend  it,  will  not  greatly  influence 
contemporary  thought.  This  is  the  reason  why  the  most 
original  thinkers  are  so  seldom  leaders  of  their  own  age ; 
why,  for  example,  the  teachings  of  Sokrates,  of  Jesus,  of 
Galileo  and  of  Spinoza  exerted  so  little  influence  on  con- 
temporary thought.  On  the  other  hand,  the  brilliantly 
successful  man  almost  always  has  that  highest  grade  of 
commonplace  mind  which  strikes  out  nothing  essentially 
new,  but  which  is  yet  keenly  susceptible  to  most  sugges- 
tions, selecting  from  these,  with  unerring  good  judgment, 
the  readily  imitable  features.  "  Too  original  a  thought  is," 
as  Baldwin  says,  "a  social  sport."  Neither  Rousseau  nor 
the  French  Revolution,  he  points  out,^  could  make  a 
democracy  of  France,  for  centuries  under  absolute  rule 
had  unfitted  the  French  to  imitate  and  to  adopt  ideals  of 
liberte,  egalite,  fraternite.  For  a  like  reason,  Constantine 
could  not  christianize  his  legions  by  baptizing  them ;  and 
indeed  nobody  ever  yet  foisted  on  a  group  of  people  any 
ideal  which  they  were  unprepared  to  imitate. 

It  is  not  altogether  easy  to  summarize  our  results.  We 
began  by  considering  the  'social  consciousness,'  in  the 
narrower  sense  of  that  term,  an  individual's  consciousness 

-  op.  cit.,  p.  469. 


34^  The  Moral  Consciotisncss 

of  a  group  of  other  selves.  Wc  found  two  stages  of  it : 
first,  the  mob-consciousness,  conscious  imitation  of  the  un- 
deliberative  acts  and  experiences  of  others  ;  and  second,  the 
reflective  consciousness  of  oneself  as  follower  or  leader  of 
an  interrelated  group  of  selves.  We  proceeded  to  identify 
the  two  tendencies,  imitation  and  invention  (or  opposition), 
with  the  self-assertive  and  adoptive  tendencies  underlying 
all  self-consciousness. 

In  conclusion,  it  will  be  well  to  contrast  the  moral  with 
the  social  consciousness.  The  moral  consciousness,  what- 
ever else  it  is,  is  certainly  a  form  of  reflective  social  experi- 
ence, a  recognition  of  one's  own  relation  to  a  group  of  other 
selves.  All  ethical  systems,  with  the  one  exception  of  that 
form  of  hedonism  which  teaches  that  individual  pleasure  is 
the  chief  good  of  life,  unite  in  the  admission  that  the  moral 
life  involves  an  altruistic  recognition,  by  one  individual, 
of  the  claims  and  needs  of  others. 

By  some  writers,  indeed,  the  moral  consciousness  in  its 
social  phase  is  not  distinguished  at  all  from  the  reflective 
social  consciousness,  and  any  reflective  realization  of  one- 
self, as  member  of  a  group  of  related  selves,  is  regarded  as 
a  definitely  moral  experience.  In  the  opinion  of  the  writer, 
there  is,  however,  a  difference  between  the  merely  social 
and  the  ethically  social  attitude  :  any  group,  however  small, 
of  related  selves,  can  be  the  object  of  a  genuinely  social 
consciousness,  but  the  moral  consciousness  keeps  in  view 
the  relationship,  not  of  any  single  group,  but  of  all  human 
selves,  with  each  other.  The  purpose  of  ethical  conduct, 
therefore,  is  the  realization  of  complete  union  between  one 
self  and  all  other  selves.  In  other  words,  when  I  am  act- 
ing morally,  I  am  not  aiming  at  my  own  pleasure  or  profit, 
I  am  not  working  to  secure  the  ends  of  my  friend,  my 
family,  my  society,  or  even  of  my  state  :  I  am  inspired  by 
a  wider  purpose,  an  ideal  of  the  harmonized  claims  and 
needs  and  desires  of  all  individuals. 

This  fact,  that  the  moral  law  is  a  recognition  of  the  uni- 


The  Moral  Consciousness  347 

verse  of  selves,  explains,  in  part,  the  common  definition  of 
moral  experience  as  the  consciousness  of  a  moral  law. 
For  a  law,  from  the  standpoint  of  science,  is  the  widest  of 
generalizations ;  and  what  we  know  as  the  moral  law  is 
the  demand  for  universal  acknowledgment  of  the  inter- 
related rights  and  needs  of  all  men,  a  demand  which  toler- 
ates no  over-emphasis  of  individual  desires  or  of  narrowly 
social  purposes. 


BOOK    II 

COMPARATIVE    PSYCHOLOGY   AND   ABNORMAL 

PSYCHOLOGY 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

DIVISIONS   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

Our  study  has  so  far  been  limited  to  the  problems  of 
introspective,  normal  psychology.  It  is  high  time  to 
break  over  these  barriers  and  to  take  at  least  a  general 
survey  of  the  outlying  fields  of  psychology.  We  shall  do 
well  to  preface  our  discussion  by  summarizing  the  chief  divi- 
sions of  psychology,  as  suggested  in  our  introductory  chap- 
ter. There  are,  of  course,  many  other  principles  on  which 
the  classification  might  be  carried  out.  In  the  summary 
which  follows,  the  bracketed  titles  indicate  divisions  which, 
though  logically  possible,  are  actually  seldom  or  never  re- 
cognized ;  and  the  middle  column  includes  sub-heads  com- 
mon to  'idea-psychology'  and  to  'self-psychology.' 

A.     Introspective  Psychology 

I.   Psychology  of  II.      Psychology  of 

Ideas.  Conscious  Selves. 

a.  Norma). 

I.  Individual. 
[2.  Social.]  2.  Social. 

b.  Abnormal. 

1.  Individual. 
[2.  Social.] 

B.    Inferential  or  Comparative  Psychology 

a.  Normal. 

[i.  Not  genetic] 

2.  Genetic. 

((?)   Individual. 

(i)   Of  animals. 

(2)  Of  children. 

(3)  Of  primitive  men. 
[(/O  Social] 

b.  Abnormal. 

351 


352  Divisions  of  PsycJiology 

The  division  on  which  all  our  study  has  been  based  is 
the  contrast  between  introspective  and  inferential,  or  com- 
parative, psychology.  Introspective  psychology  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  direct  study,  by  the  civilized  adult  (who 
only  is  capable  of  introspection),  of  his  own  conscious 
experience.  In  the  study  of  comparative  psychology,  one 
first  observes  the  words  or  the  movements  of  other  human 
beings  or  of  animals,  one  then  introspectively  reflects  on 
the  consciousness  which  accompanies  such  words  or  acts 
in  one's  own  experience,  and  finally,  one  infers,  on  this 
basis,  the  consciousness  of  the  animals,  children  or  savages 
whom  one  is  studying. 

Next  after  this  division,  comes  the  familiar  contrast  be- 
tween the  study  of  successive  ideas  and  the  study  of  the 
consciousness  of  related  selves.  This  distinction,  of 
course,  is  most  significant  and  most  readily  studied  in 
introspective  psychology. 

In  considering  the  opposition  of  normal  and  abnormal 
psychology,  we  must  first  notice  that  abnormal  psychology 
is  both  introspective  and  comparative.  Certain  conscious 
phenomena,  such  as  dreams  and  waking  visions,  so  far 
diverge  from  everyday  experience  that  we  call  them 
abnormal,  and  yet  they  may  be  studied  by  the  direct  in- 
trospection of  those  who  have  the  experience.  The  most 
pronounced  varieties  of  the  abnormal  consciousness  must, 
however,  be  studied  by  the  method  of  comparison.  It 
should  be  added  that  every  subdivision  of  normal  psy- 
chology is  logically  possible  in  the  abnormal.  Abnormal 
psychology,  for  example,  may  concern  itself  not  only  with 
adults,  but  with  children  and  with  animals,  since  both  are 
subject  to  abnormal  experiences,  as  for  instance,  dreams, 
hypnotic  influence  and  insanity. 

In  distinguishing  'individual'  from  'social'  psychology,  it 
must  be  observed  that  we  use  the  second  term  in  its  narrower 
meaning  of ,'  psychology  of  the  social  group,'  although,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  psychology  of  selves  is  itself  a  social  psy- 
chology, in  the  wider  sense  of  the  term,  since  it  treats  of 


Divisions  of  Psychology  353 

the  self  as  '  social,'  or  related  to  other  selves.  '  Social 
psychology,'  as  the  scientific  study  of  the  social  group, 
may  be  a  branch  of  the  psychology  of  ideas,  in  so  far  as  it 
is  logically  possible  to  consider  an  image,  an  emotion  or 
an  impulse  as  common  to  a  group  of  people,  and  as  mani- 
fested in  their  collective  action,  without  considering  the 
group  of  selves  who  have  the  ideas  and  the  emotions. 
This,  however,  is  a  particularly  unnatural  and  artificial 
procedure,  and  all  fruitful  studies,  which  have  actually 
been  made,  of  the  social  consciousness,  are  investigations 
of  the  action  and  reaction  of  selves  upon  each  other. 
Social  psychology  may,  finally,  be  inferential. 

We  have  next  to  formulate  the  conception  of  genetic  or 
developmental  psychology,  the  comparative  study  of  con- 
scious experiences,  at  different  stages  of  the  development 
of  individuals  or  of  social  groups.     Primarily,  this  concep- 
tion of  development  is  certainly  biological,  and  concerns 
merely  the  stages  of  bodily  growth.     Later,  it  is  applied 
to  selves,  regarded  from  a  temporal  point  of  view.     It  can 
never  be  appUed  to  the  succeeding  facts  of  consciousness, 
for  the  idea  or  emotion  of  one  day  or  month  is  different 
from  that  of  another  day  or  month,  even  if  exactly  similar  to 
it ;  and  nothing  can  be  said  to  develop  which  has  not  a  cer- 
tain permanence  of  its  own.    There  is,  therefore,  no  genetic 
study  of  ideas,  because  they  are  too  evanescent  to  have  a  de- 
velopment, but  in  its  place  there  is  a  study  of  similar  ideas, 
at  different  periods  of  bodily  growth.    The  close  connection, 
at  this  point,  of  biology  with  psychology,  occasions  a  final 
contrast  between  the  genetic  study  of  children  and  that  of 
animals.     The  former  concerns  itself  with  the  development 
of  a  human  body,  the  latter  regards  the  development  of  a 
race.     Thus,  the  problem  of  child  psychology  is  ontoge- 
netic, and  concerns  the  connection  of  characteristic  groups 
of  conscious  facts,  with  different  ages  of  the  individual; 
whereas  the  problem  of  animal  psychology  is  phylogenetic, 
and  considers  the  correlation  of  phases  of  consciousness 
with  animal  species  of  greater  or  less  development. 

2A 


354  Divisions  of  Psychology 

We  come,  finally,  to  the  distinctions  between  human 
adults,  children  and  animals,  as  objects  of  psychological 
study.  In  the  first  place,  we  must  notice  that  adult  psy- 
chology may  be  pursued  from  the  genetic  standpoint,  if 
one  resfard  the  characteristic  consciousness  of  the  adult 
periods  of  bodily  development :  youth,  early  and  late  mid- 
dle age,  old  age  and  senihty.  And  yet,  as  our  summary 
indicates,  the  ordinary  study  of  adult  psychology  assumes 
a  sort  of  typical  individual  experience,  and  does  not  con- 
cern itself  with  different  stages  of  growth.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  psychological  study  of  children  and  of  animals 
has  the  genetic  interest  at  heart.  So,  though  the  study  of 
children  might  logically  Hmit  itself  to  the  study  of  con- 
scious experience  at  some  particular  age,  yet  child  psy- 
chology is  practically  most  significant  and  theoretically 
most  interesting,  when  it  contrasts  the  conscious  phenom- 
ena of  one  age  with  those  of  another,  and  draws  conclu- 
sions about  the  rate  and  the  direction  of  development. 
And  similarly,  though  the  study  of  animal  psychology 
might  content  itself  with  the  investigation  of  animals  of 
one  special  degree  of  development,  it  finds  its  chief  interest 
in  the  phylogenetic  study  of  animal  consciousness,  at  dif- 
ferent periods  of  the  evolution  of  species. 

From  this  discussion  of  logical  possibility  and  actual 
usage,  in  the  mapping  out  of  fields  of  psychology,  we  must 
proceed  to  a  closer  study  of  those  divisions  of  psychology, 
which  we  have  so  far  disregarded.  In  so  doing,  we  shall 
distinguish,  for  practical  convenience,  between  comparative 
and  abnormal  psychology,  although,  as  has  been  pointed 
out,  the  comparative  method  is  important  in  the  study  of 
abnormal  consciousness. 


PART    I 

COMPARATIVE    PSYCHOLOGY 

CHAPTER   XXV 

THE    PSYCHOLOGY    OF   THE   ANIMAL   CONSCIOUSNESS 

We  have  already  faced  the  difficulty  which  lies,  like  a 
barrier,  across  our  very  entrance  upon  the  study  of  animal 
psychology.  Psychology  is  an  introspective  study,  and  one 
can  be  conscious  of  one's  own  experience  only.  It  follows 
that  every  man  must  be  his  own  psychologist,  in  other 
words,  that  he  must  put  every  statement,  of  book  or  of 
teacher,  and  every  statistical  result,  to  the  test  of  his  own 
introspection.  The  discovery,  through  spoken  or  written 
communication,  that  other  people's  introspection  agrees  in 
a  general  way  with  our  own,  does  give  us,  it  is  true,  a  cer- 
tain right  to  refer  to  other  people  the  results  of  our  own  in- 
trospection, and  in  this  way  the  introspective  psychology  of 
the  adult  human  consciousness  is  formulated.  But  study 
of  the  consciousness  of  animals  and  of  babies  utterly 
lacks  the  confirmation  of  spoken  communication.  Neither 
animals  nor  babies  can  reflectively  observe  their  own  ex- 
perience, nor  report  it  to  us  in  words.  Our  only  resource 
is,  as  we  have  seen,  to  infer  their  states  of  mind  from  their 
actions ;  but  a  given  action  may  be  interpreted  in  so  many 
ways,  that  we  cannot  hope  to  escape  entirely  the  dangers 
of  mistaken  inference.  No  psychologist,  therefore,  has 
greater  need  of  caution  than  the  student  of  animal  con- 
sciousness. He  should  never  forget  that  he  is  observing, 
not  the  consciousness,  but  the  movements  of  animals,  and 

355 


356      Sensational  Consciousness  of  Animals 

that  he  can  frame  no  more  than  an  intelligent  guess  at 
their  real  experience. 

The  ideal  student  of  the  animal  consciousness  is  both 
biologist  and  psychologist  :  he  is  not  merely  trained  in 
introspection  and  in  the  analysis  and  classification  of  con- 
sciousness, but  he  understands  the  structure  and  develop- 
ment of  the  animal  body,  and  he  has  a  first-hand  acquaint- 
ance with  the  life  and  habits  of  the  animals  themselves, 
supplementing  close  and  patient  observation  by  experi- 
mental methods.  The  writer  of  this  book  possesses  none 
of  these  special  quaUfications,  and  the  chapter  which  fol- 
lows is  little  more  than  an  annotated  summary  of  the 
results  of  other  people's  study.  It  aims  merely  to  present 
an  outHne  of  the  main  features  of  animal  psychology. 

I.    Structural  Elements  of  the  Animal  Consciousness 

a.     SENSATIONAL    CONSCIOUSNESS    OF    ANIMALS 

The  occurrence  of  a  given  sensation,  in  an  animal's  life, 
is  argued  in  two  ways :  first,  from  the  fact  that  the  animal 
reacts  to  stimuli,  for  example,  that  it  approaches  a  light 
or  starts  at  a  sound  ;  and  second,  from  the  discovery  of 
corresponding  sense-organs.  Neither  argument,  we  must 
remind  ourselves,  is  without  ambiguity.  The  response  to 
a  stimulus,  if  an  unvarying  movement,  may  be  an  uncon- 
scious reflex  act ;  and,  as  we  shall  see,  the  function  of  the 
different  end-organs  is  not  definitely  made  out.  Yet  the 
study  of  end-organs  and  the  observation  of  bodily  move- 
ments remain  our  only  sources  of  information  about  the 
sense-consciousness  of  animals. 

The  phylogenetic  evolution  of  animal  life  as  a  whole 
resembled,  we  have  reason  to  think,  the  ontogenetic  devel- 
opment of  the  individual  vertebrate.  The  skin  was  cer- 
tainly the  primitive  sense-organ,  for  all  the  sense-organs, 
except  the  retina  in  vertebrates,  are  developed  from  the 
skin.     An    undifferentiated    consciousness,    through    con- 


Pressure  Sensations  357 

stant  stimulation  of  the  skin,  must  therefore  have  been 
the  primitive  type  of  sensation,  unless  we  suppose  that 
animals,  at  this  low  stage  of  development,  are  uncon- 
scious. The  earliest  differentiated  sensations  must  have 
been  those  of  pressure,  taste  and  smell,  for  the  end-organs 
of  these  sensations  are  first  developed.  It  is  not  certain 
at  what  stage  sensations  of  warmth,  cold  and  pain  arose, 
but  sensations  of  hearing  and  vision  were  evidently  later 
than  the  others.  These  general  statements,  regarding  the 
development  of  sense-consciousness  in  the  animal  kingdom, 
are,  roughly  speaking,  true,  as  has  been  said,  of  the  indi- 
vidual animal  consciousness,  but  an  important  exception 
concerns  sensations  of  warmth  and  cold,  which  are  very 
evident  in  many  young  vertebrates  immediately  after  birth. 

From  this  preliminary  account  of  the  rise  of  sense-con- 
sciousness in  animals,  we  shall  go  on  to  study  the  different 
classes  of  sensation,  discussing  them  in  an  unsystematic 
manner,  and  not  even  attempting  to  consider  all  orders 
of  animal  life.  Of  pressure-sensations,  least  need  be  said, 
since,  as  we  have  seen,  all  animals,  even  those  lowest  in 
the  scale,  react  to  pressure-stimuli.  Such  reactions  may 
conceivably  be  unconscious  reflex  movements,  yet  they 
suggest,  if  they  do  not  prove,  the  universality  of  pressure- 
sensations.  In  the  more  developed  forms  of  animal  life,  the 
pressure-organs,  of  course,  become  differentiated,  and  we 
find,  in  general,  that  the  more  mobile  parts  of  the  body  have 
to  do  especially  with  pressure-stimuli;  for  example,  the  hairs 
which  pierce  the  tough  covering  of  the  crustaceans  and  of 
certain  insects,  the  cat's  whiskers,  the  hairs  of  a  rabbit's 
lips,  the  elephant's  trunk,  the  horse's  lips  and  the  man's 
fingers  are,  in  a  sense,'  pressure-organs. 

The  invertebrates  have  no  olfactory  or  gustatory  organs, 
and  they  probably  have,  in  place  of  taste  and  smell,  a  so- 
called  '  chemical  sense,'  that  is,  sensations  which  enable 
them  to  distinguish,  first,  different  sorts  of  food,  second, 
different  animals  of  the  same  species,  foes  or  mates,  and 
finally,  the  purity  or  pollution  of  the  medium  in  which  they 


358      Sensational  Consciousness  of  Animals 

live.^  Well-known  observations  prove  that  insects  are 
affected  by  olfactory  stimuli:  for  example,  one  of  Lub- 
bock's ants  stopped  short  when  she  came  to  a  scented 
object;  and  another  observer  checked  a  fight,  among  a 
group  of  pavement  ants,  by  placing  a  cologne-saturated 
paper  near  them.  Lower  in  the  scale,  medusa?,  and  prob- 
ably even  unicellular  animals,  react  to  olfactory  stimuli. 

Taste  and  smell  have,  together,  the  biological  importance 
of  the  '  chemical  sense  ' ;  for  both  smell  and  taste  test  the 
chemical  constitution  of  food,  and  smell  has  still  other  pri- 
mary functions,  of  which  the  most  important  is  the  detection 
of  foes  and  of  mates.  Therefore,  animals  who  are  defi- 
cient in  taste  and  smell  sensations  are  likely  to  fall  a  prey 
to  their  foes  or  to  their  own  indiscriminate  appetites,  or  else 
to  fail  of  securing  mates  ;  and  in  either  case,  they  will  not 
propagate  their  species.  The  careful  experimental  observa- 
tions of  Professor  Wesley  Mills,  on  young  vertebrates,  have 
shown  that,  next  to  pressure,  taste  and  smell  are  their  very 
earhest  sensations.  In  chicks  and  in  young  guinea  pigs. 
Mills  noticed  smell  and  taste  sensations  in  the  very  earliest 
hours.  The  great  sensibility  of  rabbits'  lips  to  pressure- 
stimuli  made  it  hard  to  test  their  sensibility  to  taste,  but 
there  were  signs  of  reaction  to  taste-stimuli  on  the  first 
day.  The  dogs  were  later  in  their  taste  and  smell  dis- 
criminations, but  mongrel  puppies  developed  more  quickly 
than  terriers,  and  the  terriers,  in  their  turn,  were  more  pre- 
cocious than  larger  dogs,  St.  Bernards.  "  On  the  seventh 
day,"  according  to  Mills,'-^  "when  aloes  is  placed  on  the 
finger,  the  latter  is  not  long  sucked,"  by  the  St.  Bernard 
puppy,  and  "the  facial  movements  indicate  disgust "  ;  the 
mongrel  performs  the  same  actions  on  the  second  day. 
Both  smell  and  taste  are  in  general  earlier  in  the  cat'"  than 
in  the  dog,  but  cats,  unlike  dogs,  rabbits  and  pigeons,  seem 
earlier  to  have  smell  than  taste  sensations.     There  is  little 


^  Cf.  Zwaardemaker,  "  Physiologie  des  Geruchs,"  Appendix  X. 
2  "Animal  Intelligence,"  p.  119.  ^  Qp^  ^^^^  p_  222. 


Taste  and  Smell  Sensations  359 

doubt,  as  every  one  knows,  that  vertebrates  have  a  more 
dehcate  consciousness  of  smell  than  that  of  human  beings, 
though  the  odors  which  they  most  closely  discriminate  may 
be  different  from  those  whose  variations  we  best  distin- 
guish. A  dog,  for  example,  must  recognize  a  greater 
variety  of  animal  smells  than  his  master  distinguishes,  but 
it  is  possible  that  the  man  discriminates  more  rose-fragrances 
than  the  dog  does.  Every  reader  of  sporting  tales  knows 
the  pains  which  the  hunter  has  to  take  to  cover  his  scent 
from  the  wild  creatures;  and  nobody  can  be  long  in  the 
society. of  a  dog,  without  realizing  that  his  interest  is 
centred  in  the  smells  of  his  environment.  So  a  dog  traces 
people  through  crowded  streets  by  their  footsteps,  that  is  to 
say,  by  the  odor  of  their  boots,  even  when  the  boots  have 
been  soaked  in  anise ;  and  it  is  likely  that  a  room  full  of 
people,  significant  to  most  of  us  for  its  colors  and  sounds, 
is  regarded  by  an  intelligent  dog  as  a  bewildering  complex 
of  smells,  combined  with  a  few  dashes  of  color  and,  here 
and  there,  a  sound.  Readers  of  Kipling's  Jungle  Books  will 
remember,  how  often  the  story  turns  on  the  keen  smell- 
discriminations  of  the  animals,  the  *  hair-trigger-like  sensi- 
tiveness of  a  jungle-nose,'  as  it  is  called ;  and  admirers  of 
Ernest  Seton  Thompson's  animal  heroes  have  laughed  at 
the  discomfiture  of  the  trapper  who,  wearing  a  pair  of 
gloves  steeped  in  the  blood  of  a  heifer,  encased  poison 
in  a  capsule  and  then  inserted  it  in  lumps  of  fat,  only  to 
find  his  bait  avoided  by  the  wolf,  whose  nose  defied  even 
these  precautions. 

A  comparison  of  the  brain  and  nostrils  of  a  mammalian 
animal,  with  the  human  brain  and  nose,  shows  an  anatomi- 
cal basis  for  the  animal's  superiority  in  smell-discrimination. 
The  olfactory  lobes  of  the  human  brain  are  merely  small 
protuberances  on  its  lower  median  surface,  whereas  the 
olfactory  lobes  of  a  dog's,  a  sheep's,  or  a  calf's  brain,  pro- 
trude far  forward  and  form  a  distinct  division  of  the  brain. 
The  mammalia  are  not,  however,  the  only  vertebrates  who 
have  smell-sensations,  though  smell-sensations  seem  to  be 


360      Sensational  Consciousness  of  Animals 

unimportant  in  birds  and  in  reptiles.  Vultures,  for  exam- 
ple, do  not  discover  food  which  they  cannot  see.^  On  the 
other  hand,  fishes  appear  to  smell,  though  the  smell-stimu- 
lus must,  of  course,  be  in  solution.  They  certainly  detect 
their  food  from  afar,  and  though  they  have  no  brain  and 
therefore  no  olfactory  lobe,  yet  within  their  nasal  cavities 
is  a  sensory  epithelium  with  olfactory  cells. 

It  has  already  been  implied  that  many  kinds  of  animals 
are  not  proved  to  have  sensations  of  warmth  and  of  cold. 
But  it  is  very  evident  that  vertebrates  experience  both  cold 
and  warmth.  Nobody  who  has  lived  with  a  cat  really  doubts 
that  cats,  at  least,  have  sensations  of  warmth,  and  that  they 
revel  in  them.  The  cat's  unerring  choice  of  an  abiding- 
place  on  the  sunny  window-sill,  on  the  narrow  path  of  the 
sunlight  across  the  carpet,  or  on  the  section  of  the  floor 
which  conceals  hot-water  pipes  is  clear  enough  proof  of 
this.  The  huddled  cattle  on  a  bleak  prairie  also  seem  to 
be  feeling  the  cold.  Mr.  Mills,  in  his  diaries  of  early  ani- 
mal life,  notes  that  cats,  dogs,  rabbits  and  pigeons  are 
sensitive  in  the  first  days  of  life  to  warmth  and  cold.  Of 
pigeons.  Mills  says  :  ^  "  One  can  quiet  the  most  disturbed 
and  pugnacious  young  one  by  gently  holding  the  warm 
hand,  a  warm  cloth,  etc.,  over  it.  A  single  cold  day  is  liable 
to  kill  young  pigeons  if  their  parents  do  not  sit  on  them  con- 
stantly, and  sometimes  even  when  they  do.  The  essential 
vital  processes  of  the  body  seem  to  be  deranged  by  cold." 

We  come,  finally,  to  the  higher  sensations,  so-called,  of 
hearing  and  vision.  First  of  all,  it  is  important  to  notice 
that  response  to  light-stimulation  is  no  clear  evidence  of 
visual  sensations.  Earthworms,  for  instance,  have  no 
kind  or  description  of  eye,  yet  their  movements  show 
pretty  clearly  that  they  are  sensitive  to  light  and  to  dark- 
ness. We  cannot  suppose  that  vision  exists  until  there  is 
some  sort  of  visual  organ ;  and  we  must,  therefore,  infer 

1  Cf.  Morgan,  op.  cit.,  p.  256.  2  "Animal  Intelligence,"  p.  254. 


Visual  Sensations  361 

first,  that  the  light  presumably  affects  the  skin  of  an  eye- 
less animal  (which  reacts  to  it),  by  bringing  about  a  chemical 
change,  and  second,  that  the  consciousness,  if  any  exist,  is 
of  contact.  The  earliest  form  of  eye  is  a  pigment-spot  in 
the  skin,  an  area  differentiated  from  the  surrounding  skin, 
often  provided  with  a  sort  of  lens,  and  always  affected  by 
the  change  from  light  to  dark.  It  is  found,  for  example, 
in  some  forms  of  mollusca  and  in  the  very  lowest  verte- 
brates. The  second  form  is  the  facetted  eye,  familiar  to 
us  in  the  fly  and  in  the  bee.  It  consists  in  a  large  number 
of  little  cone-shaped  organs,  each  of  which  transmits  only 
the  ray  of  light  which  passes  directly  through  it ;  oblique 
rays  are  absorbed  by  the  pigmented  material  with  which 
these  cones  are  surrounded.  The  result  is  a  miniature 
'  stippled,'  or  mosaic,  reproduction  of  the  field  of  vision, 
since  each  of  the  thousand  cones  transmits  light  from  one 
point  only.  A  third  type  of  eye,  found  also  in  insects,  is 
the  ocellus  —  a  small  eye,  consisting  mainly  of  lens,  retina 
and  rods,  and  of  use,  it  is  supposed,  in  darkness  and  for 
near  objects.  There  is,  finally,  the  true  eye,  with  its  lens 
and  its  retina,  found  in  crustaceans  and  in  most  verte- 
brates. The  eyes  of  quadrupeds  are  usually  larger, 
further -apart  and  more  effective  than  human  eyes.  The 
whole  field  of  vision  is  larger,  for  there  is  less  overlapping 
of  the  two  fields.  For  these  reasons,  vision  as  well  as 
smell  reaches  its  greatest  acuteness  below  man.  The 
keener  night  vision  of  the  beasts  is  explained  by  the  fact 
that  the  pupil  (which  often  contracts  to  a  narrow  slit)  may 
also  dilate  very  widely. 

The  mammalia  are  not  the  only  animals  distinguished 
by  their  keen  sight.  Mr.  Bateson  describes  the  vision  of 
a  fish  (the  wrasse)  which  "can  see  a  shrimp  with  certainty 
when  the  whole  body  is  buried  in  gray  sand,  excepting  the 
antennae  and  antenna  plates."  ^     And  Morgan  instances  ^ 

"^  Journal  of  Marine  Biological  Association,  N.  S.,  T.,  2  and  3.  Quoted  by 
Morgan,  op.  cit.,  p.  287.  ^  Qp.  ciL,  p.  256. 


362      Sensational  Consciousness  of  Animals 

the  unerring  aim  of  small  lobsters,  who  plunge  from  con- 
siderable heights  into  tiny  crevices  of  a  rock. 

Sensations  of  color,  also,  are  not  a  perquisite  of  verte- 
brate animals.  Sir  John  Lubbock,  one  of  the  first  of  the 
enthusiastic  and  careful  students  of  the  animal  conscious- 
ness, showed  clearly  that  his  bees  distinguished  blue  from 
orange.  For  when  he  placed  honey  on  papers  of  both 
colors,  they  constantly  chose  the  honey  from  the  blue 
background,  persisting  in  this  even  when  the  position  of 
the  papers  was  changed.  One  bee,  we  are  told,^  "  returned 
to  the  orange  spot  and  was  just  going  to  alight  when  she 
observed  the  change  of  color,  pulled  herself  up,  and  with- 
out hesitation  darted  off  to  the  blue."  To  Lubbock  we 
owe,  also,  an  experiment  on  water-fleas  (daphnias),  which 
suggests  that  their  susceptibility  to  color-stimuli  may  be 
different  from  ours.^  The  daphnias,  placed  in  water  on 
which  a  spectrum  was  thrown,  at  first  crowded  in  greatest 
numbers  into  the  part  which  was  green,  though  some  were 
found  in  each  of  the  differently  colored  parts  of  the  water. 
Next,  however,  Lubbock  covered,  and  thus  darkened,  the 
visible  spectrum,  leaving  the  daphnias  free  to  collect  in 
this  darkened  space  or  in  the  ultra-violet  part  of  the  spec- 
trum, which,  of  course,  is  equally  dark  to  human  eyes. 
But  two  hundred  and  eighty-six  of  the  three  hundred 
daphnias  thronged  the  ultra-violet  part,  suggesting,  as 
Morgan  says,  that  they  are  "  sensible  to  ultra-violet  rays 
beyond  the  limits  of  human  vision."^ 

The  phenomena  of  protective  coloration  are  an  argu- 
ment, if  one  be  needed,  to  the  wide  prevalence  of  color- 
sensations  among  the  vertebrates.  The  facts  are  these: 
the  weaker  edible  animals  are  so  colored  that  they  resem- 
ble their  surroundings ;  the  caterpillar  is  dull  green  like 
the  leaves  on  which  it  feeds,  the  plover's  eggs  are  like  the 
stones  among  which  they  are  laid,  and  the  brilliant  coral  fish 

1  "Ants,  Bees  and  Wasps,"  p.  292.  ^  Ibid.,  p.  295. 

2  Lubbock,  British  Assoc.  Report,  1S81.     Cf.  IMorgan,  op,  cii.,  p.  295. 


Attditory  Sensations  363 

is  no  brighter  than  the  coral  reefs  among  which  he  Hves.^ 
The  probable  explanation  is  the  following  :  highly  colored 
animals,  being  more  conspicuous,  fall  a  prey  to  stronger 
creatures,  and  have  thus  no  chance  to  propagate  their 
species.  The  protectively  colored  individuals,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  preserved  and  transmit  their  coloration.  This 
explanation  presupposes,  on  the  part  of  the  animals  who 
devour,  a  discrimination  of  the  colors  of  their  prey. 

The  study  of  the  auditory  consciousness  of  animals  is 
rendered  difficult,  by  the  uncertainty  whether  certain  organs 
are  adapted  to  stimulation  by  sounds,  or  whether  they  are 
excitable  merely  by  shocks  and  concussions.  Of  course, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  mammals  and  birds  have  both  a  keen 
and  a  delicate  discrimination  of  sounds.  The  mobility  of 
the  outer  ear  of  many  animals  facilitates  the  distinction 
of  sound-directions  ;  for  example,  when  a  dog  faces  sud- 
denly about  and  pricks  up  his  ears,  the  sounds  are  probably 
better  reflected  from  the  lifted  ears,  than  from  the  nor- 
mally drooping  ears.  The  facility  of  birds,  in  imitating  the 
calls  of  other  birds  and  even  human  sounds,  is  evidence  of 
their  delicate  discrimination.  "No  one,"  Morgan  says,^ 
"  who  has  watched  a  thrush  listening  for  worms,  can  doubt 
that  her  ear  is  highly  sensitive." 

But  almost  all  animals,  even  those  much  lower  in  the 
scale,  seem  sensitive  to  sound.  Even  the  earthworm,  which 
has  nothing  like  an  auditory  organ,  appears  to  be  affected 
by  sound ;  and  most  invertebrates  have  simple  organs,  a])- 
parently  auditory,  —  either  'auditory  pits,'  depressions  in 
the  skin,  or  else  closed  sacs  containing  the  small  stony  par- 
ticles called  otoliths.  These  supposedly  auditory  organs 
are  very  differently  distributed  in  different  animals  :  they 
are  found  near  the  edge  of  the  umbrella  of  certain  jelly-fish, 
in  the  muscular  foot  of  the  fresh-water  mussel,  in  the  anten- 
nules  of  lobsters,  in  the  abdomen  of  locusts  and  in  the  legs 
of  certain  insects.     But,  as  has  been  hinted  already,  it  is  not 

1  Cf.  Morgan,  op.  cit.,  pp.  82-83.  "  ^P-  ''''■>  P-  264. 


364      Sensational  Consciousness  of  Animals 

possible  to  prove  that  the  little  pits  and  the  tubes  containing 
otoliths  are  auditory  organs  at  all.  The  otoliths  of  the 
human  ear  belong,  we  remember,  to  the  semicircular  canals, 
whose  function  is  to  condition  a  consciousness  of  bodily 
position  ;  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  the  auditory  pits 
serve  a  similar  end,  in  other  words,  that,  although  they  are 
stimulated,  like  auditory  organs,  by  the  contact  of  the  vibrat- 
ing air,  they  serve  to  excite  pressure-sensations.  This  is 
the  more  likely,  because  these  undeveloped  auditory  organs 
are  often  connected  with  hairs  ;  and  hairs  are  usually  organs 
of  contact-sensations. 

The  comparative  development  of  vision  and  hearing  is 
most  easily  studied,  in  the  case  of  young  vertebrates.  All 
those  on  whom  Mills  experimented  were  born  both  blind 
and  deaf.  He  finds  that  the  eyes  open  before  the  ears,  but 
that  "  hearing  follows  sooner  on  complete  opening  of  the 
ears  than  seeing  on  opening  of  the  eyes."  ^  For  example, 
on  the  fourteenth  day,  a  St.  Bernard  dog  gave  no  sign  of 
hearing  a  shrill  dog-whistle,  and  only  on  the  seventeenth 
day  was  there  a  twitching  of  the  ears  in  response  to  the 
sound.  But  this  same  dog  did  not  follow  an  object  with 
his  eyes  till  its  eighteenth  day.  Both  the  cats  and  the  rab- 
bits saw  and  heard  several  days  earlier  than  the  dogs,  and 
the  guinea  pigs  and  pigeons  were  more  precocious  than 
either.  Yet,  except  in  the  case  of  the  guinea  pigs,  who 
could  both  see  and  hear  a  few  hours  after  birth,  all  these 
animals  responded  later  to  visual,  than  to  auditory,  stimulus. 

From  this  summary,  certain  general  results  emerge. 
Observation  of  animal  sensations  confirms,  in  the  first 
place,  the  teaching  of  evolutionists,  that  development  is,  in 
a  measure,  parallel  within  different  animal  sub-kingdoms. 
We  do  not  find,  for  example,  that  the  sense-experience  of 
all  vertebrates  is  fuller  than  that  of  certain  members  of 
other  sub-kingdoms.  On  the  other  hand,  the  lower  verte- 
brates—  reptiles,  for  example  —  are  less  sensitive  to  light, 

1  op.  cit.,  p.  172. 


Sensational  Consciousness  of  Animals      365 

sound  and  smell,  than  many  insects.  As  Morgan  says 
about  ants  and  bees,  "  We  must  be  careful  to  avoid  the  error 
of  supposing  that  because  they  happen  to  have  no  back-bone, 
they  are  necessarily  low  in  the  scale  of  life  and  intelligence. 
The  tree  of  life,"  he  adds,  "has  many  branches,  and  .  .  . 
there  is  no  reason  why  the  bee  and  the  ant  in  their  branch 
of  life  should  not  have  attained  as  high  a  development  of 
structure  and  intelligence  as  the  dog  and  the  elephant  in 
their  branch."  A  different  illustration  of  progressive  devel- 
opment, within  an  animal  sub-kingdom,  is  furnished  by  the 
mollusks.  Some  mollusks  have  no  visual  organ,  some  have 
only  a  pigment  spot,  and  some  have  developed  eyes.  It 
is,  therefore,  perfectly  evident  that  mollusks  differ  widely 
in  the  possession  or  in  the  degree  of  visual  consciousness. 

Our  second  general  conclusion  is  a  very  obvious  one : 
the  higher  vertebrates  probably  possess  all  the  different 
sorts  of  sense-experience,  which  characterize  the  human 
consciousness,  and  yet  they  must  be  widely  different  from 
us,  not  only  in  the  range  of  their  sensational  experiences, 
but  also  in  the  character  of  the  affective  consciousness, 
which  accompanies  their  perceptions.  Given  a  man  and  a 
dog  in  a  summer  meadow,  and  it  is  pretty  certain  that  the 
dog  will  care  far  more  for  the  smells  and  far  less  for  the 
colors  than  the  man  does. 

Finally,  we  must  emphasize  once  more  our  initial  warn- 
ing. We  know  nothing,  after  all,  and  can  barely  venture 
to  infer  anything  about  the  consciousness  of  animals  of 
the  lower  orders.  That  earthworms,  who  have  no  visual 
organs,  and  daphnias,  who  have  only  eye-spots,  are  affected 
by  visual  stimuli,  is  definitely  proved.  But  that  their  move- 
ments are  accompanied  by  sensation,  still  more,  that  they 
are  accompanied  by  visual  sensation,  is  surely  beyond  the 
power  of  demonstration. 

There  is  no  doubt  at  all  that  the  higher  vertebrates  and 
the  insects  possess  sense-images,  as  well  as  sense-percepts. 
The  dog  who  bounds  up  from  his  lazy  drowsiness,  at  sound 


366  Imagination  of  Animals 

of  a  footstep,  has  probably  before  his  mind  the  image 
'man';  and,  as  Morgan  observes,^  the  bird  who  hops 
about  the  lawn  tapping,  here  and  there,  and  then  listen- 
ing eagerly  for  the  sound  of  the  worm,  has  almost  cer- 
tainly been  impelled  to  the  hopping  and  the  tapping  by 
the  image  of  a  fat  and  luscious  worm. 

The  images  of  animals  are,  of  course,  mainly  in  terms  of 
the  sensations  which  most  interest  them,  and  need  not, 
therefore,  closely  resemble  our  images  of  the  same  objects 
or  scenes.  A  dog's  image,  of  Quincy  Market  on  Christmas 
Eve,  would  be  a  bewildering  consciousness  of  exciting 
smells  ;  a  man's  image  would  be  mainly  visual,  a  complex 
of  dark  buildings,  flaring  lights,  the  ruddy  coloring  of  the 
meat  and  vegetable  stalls,  and  the  green  of  Christmas 
wreaths.  This  wide  difference,  in  the  predominant  image- 
qualities  of  animals  and  of  men,  is  well  suggested  by  a 
single  expression  in  one  of  the  Jungle  Book  stories.  Mow- 
gli  was  entering  Messua's  hut,  "  when  he  felt  a  touch  on 
his  foot.  '  Mother,'  said  he,  for  he  knew  that  tongue  well, 
'  what  dost  thou  here  } '  "  Evidently  the  feel  of  Mother 
Wolf's  tongue,  which  had  so  often  lapped  him  in  the  old 
cave-home,  was  an  important  part  of  Mowgli's  image  of  her. 

Many  of  these  images  of  an  animal's  consciousness  must 
be  accurate  repetitions  of  past  experience,  that  is,  memory 
images.  The  dog  who  refuses  to  eat  from  anything  save 
a  certain  cracked,  brown  plate,  must  remember  either  the 
look  or  the  feel  of  the  dish  ;  the  cat  who  leaves  her  post 
on  the  porch  and  chases  about  the  house  to  the  window- 
sill  outside  the  dining  room,  must  remember  that  this  is 
her  usual  avenue  of  approach  to  the  breakfast-table. 

d.     RELATIONAL    EXPERIENCES 

We  have  so  far  found  reason  to  conclude  that  at  least 
the  '  higher '  animals  have  a  rich  and  full  sensational  con- 
sciousness, affectively  toned.     Postponing  for  the  present 

1  "Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,"  p.  350, 


Relational  Consciousness  of  Animals       367 

the  further  discussion  of  their  emotional  experience,  we 
must  face  the  question  :  do  animals  have  relational  con- 
sciousness? It  is  not  strange,  indeed,  that  the  answer 
should  be  difficult,  for  one  of  the  physiological  tests  of 
sensational  experience  is  lacking  here,  in  the  nature  of  the 
case  :  there  are  no  end-organs  of  relational  elements  of 
consciousness,  and  we  have  only,  therefore,  the  movements 
of  animals,  from  which  to  infer  the  presence  or  absence  of 
these  relational  elements.  Moreover,  the  bodily  move- 
ments, indicative  of  relational  experience,  are  far  harder  to 
interpret  than  the  simple  motor  response  to  the  sensational 

stimulus. 

I.  Recognition 

There  is  and  can  be  no  evidence,  for  or  against  the  fact 
that  animals  have  a  consciousness  of  famiharity.  This 
does  not  mean  that  there  is  no  evidence  of  animal  mem- 
ory :  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  seen  from  their  actions 
that  animals  must  possess  memory  images,  that  is,  images 
which  reproduce  their  past  experience.  But  we  cannot 
know  positively  whether  or  not  a  feeling  of  famiharity 
accompanies  these  images,  in  other  words,  whether  the 
dog  recognizes  the  cracked,  brown  plate,  or  whether  the 
cat  knows  the  sunny  window-sill  as  '  the  familiar  thing 
which  I've  met  before.'  Our  ignorance  is  due,  not  only  to 
the  absence  of  any  end-organs  of  famiharity-feeling,  but 
also  to  the  fact  that  no  bodily  actions  are  sufficiently  char- 
acteristic of  familiarity-feehng  to  distinguish  it.  The  evi- 
dence of  its  existence  is  thus,  as  we  have  found, ^  purely 
introspective.  Evidently,  therefore,  though  we  rightly 
conclude  that  animals  remember,  we  simply  do  not  know 
whether  or  not  they  recognize. 

2.    TJiought 

No  problem  of  animal  psychology  is  more  hotly  dis- 
puted than  the  question,  do  animals  have  thoughts  ?     It 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XIX. 


368  Aui?nal  Reasoning 

will  be  remembered  that  the  test  of  the  presence  of 
thoughts  in  experience  is  the  test  of  direct  introspection. 
Our  decisive  question  is  always :  have  we  the  feeling 
of  any-ness  or  of  wholeness  ?  Obviously,  this  test  can- 
not be  applied  in  a  study  of  the  animal  consciousness. 
The  only  basis  for  argument  is,  as  we  have  seen,  the  bod- 
ily movements  of  the  animals ;  and  these,  it  is  once  more 
evident,  are  not  so  easy  of  interpretation  as  mere  motion 
to  and  from  sense-stimuli.  None  the  less,  we  have  no  re- 
source, save  to  study  the  actions  of  animals,  with  intent 
to  discover  if  they  act  as  they  could  not  act  without 
thought. 

This  necessary  limitation  of  our  method  means  a  limita- 
tion of  the  scope  of  our  study.  For  no  distinctive  and 
externally  observable  form  of  bodily  reaction  accompanies 
the  comparison,  the  general  notion,  the  single  judgment 
or  even  the  synthetic  reasoning.  We  are  left  then  with 
the  one  question :  do  animals  reason  analytically ;  ^  in 
other  words,  do  they  perform  acts  which  can  only  be 
explained,  on  the  supposition  that  they  abstract  single 
features  from  total  situations,  and  then  combine  these 
into  novel  conclusions  ? 

There  is,  of  course,  no  earthly  doubt  that  the  higher 
animals,  invertebrate  as  well  as  vertebrate,  act  as  they 
would  act  if  they  reasoned.  People  who  argue  the  affirm- 
ative of  our  question  heap  up  tale  after  tale,  each  well 
authenticated,  and  yet  each  more  astounding  than  the  last, 
of  these  '  rational '  acts  of  our  animal  friends.  They  tell, 
for  example,  how  a  South  African  beetle  extricated  his 
load,  from  a  hollow  out  of  which  he  could  not  roll  it : 
"  Leaving  the  ball,  he  butted  down  the  sand  at  one  end 
of  the  hollow,  so  as  to  produce  an  inclined  plane  of  much 
less  angle,  up  which  he  then  without  difficulty  pushed  his 
burden."  ^  Romanes  has  a  story  of  birds  who  scatter  when 
they  light  on  thin  ice  so  that  their  weight  is  divided ;  and 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XVIII.,  throughout.  2  Morgan,  op.  cit.,  p.  368. 


Animal  Reasoiiing  369 

somebody  else  tells  the  tale  of  a  dog  who  calculates,  in 
swimming  across  a  harbor,  the  allowance  to  be  made  for 
incoming  or  outgoing  tide.  An  unpublished  tale  shall  con- 
clude this  series,  which  might  be  indefinitely  lengthened. 
It  is  the  story  of  a  terrier,  who  has  been  trained  to  carry 
home  the  newspaper  from  the  five  o'clock  train.  He  now 
goes  to  the  train  unattended,  and  leaves  the  house  exactly 
at  the  whistle  of  the  four-forty-five  train.  "  He  was  never 
taught  to  do  this,"  his  owner  explains,  "  so,  of  course, 
he  reasons  that  this  will  give  him  just  time  to  reach  the 
station  at  five  o'clock." 

Writers,  who  believe  that  animals  reason,  do  not  fail  to 
point  out  the  probability  that  animals  '  attend,'  that  is,  that 
their  percepts  are  clear,  narrowed,  prolonged  and  sugges- 
tive. Perceptual  attention  seems  to  be,  indeed,  as  Ribot 
says,  '  a  condition  of  life.'  "The  carnivorous  animal  that 
had  not  its  attention  roused  on  sight  of  prey  would  stand 
but  a  poor  chance  of  survival ;  the  prey  that  had  not  its 
attention  roused  by  the  sight  of  its  natural  enemy  would 
stand  but  a  poor  chance  of  escape."  ^  Now  the  fact  that 
animals  appear  to  be  attentive  to  some  parts  of  their  total 
environment,  certainly  suggests  that  they  have  analytic 
judgments,  because,  as  we  have  seen,  the  emphasized  part 
of  an  analytic  judgment  is  always  an  'abstracted'  or 
attended-to  portion  of  it.  But  we  have  no  right  to  the 
conclusion  that  animals  are  proved  to  reason,  in  other 
words,  to  reach  conclusions  by  mediate  inference,  until 
we  have  satisfied  ourselves  that  these  '  rational '  acts  could 
not  have  been  unreasoningly  performed  by  the  immediate 
association,  due  to  past  experience,  of  some  imaged  act. 
The  only  conceivable  criterion  of  the  inevitably-reasoned 
act'is,  thus,  the  one  which  James  suggests,  its  entire  novelty. 
The  dog  who  saw  a  boat  full  of  water  and,  obeying  his  mas- 
ter's gestures,  ran  back  to  the  house,  returning  with  a 
sponge,  has  been  regarded  as   a  reasoning  dog,  because 

1  Morgan,  op.  cit.,  p.  343. 

2B 


370  Animal  Re  a  soiling 

though  he  was  never  trained  to  carry  the  sponge  to  the  boat, 
he  had  none  the  less  'reasoned  '  that  it  was  wanting.  But 
James  is  correct  in  the  remark  that  the  dog  may  have  re- 
membered past  observations  of  boat  cleaning.  The  act 
"  might  fairly  have  been  called  an  act  of  reasoning 
proper,"  James  adds,^  "  if  unable  to  find  the  sponge  at 
the  house,  he  had  brought  back  a  dipper  or  mop." 

In  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  who  follows  Morgan  and 
James  in  this  view,  this  test  of  entire  novelty,  as  criterion 
of  the  reasoned  act,  has  never  been  fully  met.  The  most 
rational-appearing  acts  of  animals  may  have  followed  upon 
immediately  suggested  images,  and  not  upon  conclusions 
mediately  reached  through  analysis.  The  beetle,  the  dogs 
and  the  birds,  heroes  of  our  stories  about  apparent  reason- 
ing, may  have  performed  the  acts,  so  admirably  adapted 
to  secure  their  desires,  purely  as  repetitions  of  acts  already 
performed.  In  accordance  with  this  view,  Morgan  analyzes 
the  act  of  the  dog  who  seems  to  allow  for  the  current. 
"The  dog,"  he  says,  "  has  presumably  had  frequent  experi- 
ence of  the  effect  of  the  stream  in  carrying  him  with  it. 
He  has  been  carried  beyond  the  landing-place,  and  had 
bother  with  the  mud ;  but  when  he  has  entered  the  stream 
higher  up,  he  has  nearly,  if  not  quite,  reached  the  landing- 
stage.  His  keen  perceptions  come  to  his  aid,  and  he 
adjusts  his  action  nicely  to  effect  his  purpose.  On  the 
bank  sits  a  young  student  watching  him.  He  sees  in  the 
dog's  action  a  problem,  which  he  runs  over  rapidly  in  his 
mind.  '  Velocity  of  stream,  two  miles  an  hour.  Width, 
one-eighth  of  a  mile.  Dog  takes  ten  minutes  to  swim 
one-eighth  of  a  mile.  Distance  flowed  by  the  stream  in 
ten  minutes,  one-third  of  a  mile.  Clever  dog  that !  He 
allows  just  about  the  right  distance.  A  little  short,  though. 
Has  rather  a  struggle  at  the  end.'  The  dog  intelHgently 
performs  the  feat ;  the  lad  reasons  it  out." 

In  a  similar  way,  we  may  account  for  the  action  of  the 

1  Op.  ciL,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  349-350- 


Aninial  Reasoning  371 

little  dog,  who  seems  to  have  reasoned  that  fifteen  minutes 
is  necessary  to  reach  the  station.  The  shrill  whistle  of  the 
earlier  train  excites  an  image  of  his  habitual  scamper,  late 
in  the  afternoon,  to  the  station ;  and  he  is  off  at  once,  be- 
cause the  image  inevitably  excites  his  movements,  not 
because  he  has  analyzed  the  situation  and  reasoned  out  the 
time  between  the  trains. 

This  view  of  the  case  is  sustained  by  the  results  of  care- 
ful experiments,  performed  by  Dr.  Edward  Thorndike,  on 
dogs,  cats  and  chicks.  His  method  is  the  following :  ^ 
the  animals  are  placed,  when  hungry,  in  large  boxes,  from 
which  they  can  "  escape  and  so  get  food  only  by  manipu- 
lating some  simple  mechanism  (^e.g.  by  pulling  down  a  loop 
of  wire,  depressing  a  lever  or  turning  a  button)."  Dr. 
Thorndike  finds  that  a  young  animal  usually  chances  to 
make  the  proper  movement,  in  the  course  of  its  instinctive 
reactions,  clawing,  biting,  attempting  to  squeeze  through 
holes ;  that  this  movement,  probably  because  of  the  pleas- 
antness of  the  escape,  tends  to  be  remembered,  and  that 
therefore  "  after  repeated  trials,  the  animal  will  perform 
the  act  immediately  on  being  confronted  with  the  situa- 
tion." So  far,  of  course,  the  experiment  seems  to  indicate 
that  these  animals  do  perform  mechanical  operations  by 
merely  recalUng  and  repeating  their  chance  movements, 
but  the  experiment  does  not  prove  that  its  subjects  might 
not  also  perform  these  acts  through  reasoning.  The 
disproof  of  this  reasoning  hypothesis  seems  to  be  sup- 
plied, by  the  discovery  that  "  in  the  case  of  some  difficult 
associations,"  the  animals,  "would  happen  to  do  the  thing 
six  or  seven  times,  but  after  long  periods  of  promiscuous 
scrabbling,  and  then  forever  after  would  fail  to  do  it." 
Dr.  Thorndike  is  quite  correct  in  the  remark :  "  If  they 
had  acted  from  inference  in  any  case,  they  ought  not 
to  have  failed  in  the  seventh  or  eighth  trial.     What  had 


1  Monograph  Supplement  No.  8,  of  the  Psychological  Review.     Cf.  Psycho- 
logical Review,  Vol.  V.,  p.  550. 


'})']'2  The  Animal  Consciousness 

been  inferred   six  times    should   have  been   inferred   the 
seventh." 

The  theory  that  animals  do  not  reason  is  bound  to  en- 
rage their  most  ardent  admirers.  These  gentle  souls  must 
console  themselves  with  two  reflections  :  first,  the  reiterated 
truth  that  all  conclusions  about  animals  are  mere  inference. 
The  demonstration  that  animals  have  not  been  proved  to 
reason  is  not  equivalent,  therefore,  to  a  positive  proof  that 
they  do  not  reason.  It  is  even  more  important  to  bear  in 
mind  that  reasoning  is  not  essential  to  an  alert  and  many- 
sided  intelligence.  As  has  been  said  so  often,  the  immedi- 
ately associated  image  may  lead  to  the  same  result,  in  action, 
as  the  reasoned  conclusion.  In  questioning  the  ability  of 
the  higher  animals  to  reason,  we  are  not,  therefore,  ques- 
tioning their  capacity  to  act  effectively,  or  their  possession 
of  rich  percepts  and  of  swift-coming  images.  We  are,  it 
is  true,  denying  their  rationality,  in  the  technical  sense  of 
that  word,  but  we  are  freely  admitting  the  wide  scope  and 
the  wonderful  adaptation  of  their  intelligence.^ 

C.    AFFECTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS 

It  is  generally  agreed  that  the  sense-experience  of  the 
'  higher '  animals  often  gives  them  pleasure  or  dissatisfac- 
tion. The  presence,  in  their  consciousness,  of  these 
pleasures  and  dissatisfactions  is  argued  mainly  from  the 
persistence,  with  which  they  seek  certain  situations  and 
avoid  others.  The  emotional  experience  is  also  inferred 
from  the  observation  of  specific  movements  of  expansion 
or  depression,  which  in  human  beings  have  been  observed 
to  accompany  the  affective  experience.^ 

Admitting,  therefore,  that  many  animals  have  pleasant 
and  unpleasant  experiences,  we  shall  next  briefly  consider 
the  indications  which  they  give  of  emotions,  complex  states 

1  Cf.  throughout,  Morgan,  op.  cit..  Chapter  IX. ;  and  James,  op.  cit..  Vol.  II., 
Chapter  XXI.,  pp.  348  seq.  2  cf.  Chapter  XX.  pp.  287  seq. 


Affections  and  Emotions  2)7 Z 

in  which  affections  predominate.  No  one  doubts  that  the 
higher  animals  experience  the  basal  and  primitive  emo- 
tions, happiness,  unhappiness,  hope  and  fear.  Darwin  has 
contrasted  the  appearance  of  a  dog,  when  cheerful,  —  his 
'high  steps,  head  much  raised,  moderately  erected  ears  and 
tail  carried  aloft,'  —  with  the  attitude  of  the  same  animal  de- 
jected and  disappointed,  with  his  '  head,  ears,  body,  tail  and 
chops  drooping,  and  eyes  dull'  ^  The  contrasted  attitudes, 
in  their  general  aspects,  are  exhibited  by  other  animals,  and 
are  an  evident  result,  of  either  strengthened  or  relaxed 
muscular  contraction.  The  bodily  accompaniments  of  fear 
—  trembling,  for  example  - —  are  essentially  the  accentuated 
marks  of  disappointment  or  grief,  but  these  are  followed 
by  violent  contractions  of  the  flexor  muscles  :2  dogs,  for 
instance,  in  moments  of  fear,  like  their  ancestors,  the 
wolves  and  jackals,  'tuck  in  their  tails,'  and  often  lay  back 
their  ears,  instead  of  merely  drooping  them,  as  in  grief. 

We  must,  of  course,  guard  ourselves  carefully  from  too 
exact  and  assured  an  interpretation  of  these  bodily  atti- 
tudes of  so-called  joy,  grief  and  fear.  They  are  probably, 
as  we  have  seen,'^  the  developed  and  abbreviated  forms  of 
movements  of  advance  and  retreat,  which  may  well  have 
been  originally  performed  without  consciousness.  Further- 
more, though  the  capering  movements  or  the  drooping  ears 
and  tail  are  almost  certainly  accompanied  by  emotion,  we 
have  yet  no  assurance  about  the  exact  nature  of  that  emo- 
tion. It  is  not,  for  instance,  safe  to  conclude  that  the  dog 
with  tail  between  his  legs  and  trembling  Hmbs,  in  a  heavy 
thunderstorm,  is  'afraid  of  the  thunder'  precisely  as  the 
trembling  child  is  afraid  of  it.  A  certain  primitive  fear,  a 
thoroughly  unpleasant  consciousness  of  deafening  sound 
and  blinding  light  and  trembling  limbs,  the  dog  may  cer- 
tainly be  supposed  to  share  with  the  man.  But  everything 
which  the  child  has  heard  or  learned  to  increase  his  fear, 


1  "Expression  of  the  Emotions,"  pp.  57  and  122. 

2  Cf.  Chapter  XX.,  p.  292.  ^  H'U.,  p.  296. 


374  '^^^^  Conscio2isncss  of  Animals 

every  anticipation  of  house  in  flames,  property  lost,  eyes 
blinded,  must  be  lacking  in  the  dog's  experience.  In  other 
words,  the  emotional  experience  of  animals  is  limited  by 
the  range  of  their  imagination  :  the  traditional  past,  which 
they  do  not  know,  and  the  wide  future,  which  they  cannot 
foresee,  do  not  enter  into  their  emotional  life  ;  whereas,  we 
human  beings  as  often  grieve  and  joy  for  the  imagined 
as  for  the  seen. 

We  have  purposely  neglected  the  discussion  of  the 
strictly  social  emotions  of  animals  —  their  love  and  their 
sympathy,  because  the  study  of  these  experiences  is 
undertaken  in  the  following  section  of  this  chapter. 

II.   The  Personal  and  Social  Consciousness  of 

Animals 

We  have  so  far  considered  the  problems  of  animal  psy- 
chology, from  the  strictly  analytic  standpoint,  merely  try- 
ing to  discover  the  structural  elements  of  the  consciousness 
of  animals.  We  have  now  to  inquire,  whether  animals  give 
evidence  of  a  consciousness  of  themselves  in  relation  to 
other  selves.  We  are,  of  course,  inclined  to  the  belief  that 
they  do  have  some  sort  of  self-consciousness,  because  our 
own  consciousness  is  always,  in  some  sense,  a  consciousness 
of  self,  so  that  we  cannot  conceive  of  an  utterly  impersonal 
consciousness.  But  we  have  more  external  evidence  of  the 
self-consciousness  of  animals.  A  study  of  their  pairing, 
mating  and  herding  undoubtedly  suggests  to  us  that  they 
have  a  certain  consciousness  of  their  fellows,  that  is,  in 
the  wider  sense  of  the  term  —  a  social  consciousness. 

The  relation  of  the  higher  animals  with  human  beings 
gives  further  evidence  that  they  possess  a  social  conscious- 
ness. The  ecstatic  leaps  and  barks  and  tail  waggings  with 
which  a  dog,  who  has  watched  unmoved  a  hundred  pass- 
ers-by, dashes  forward  to  greet  his  master,  seems  to  show, 
not  merely  the  recognition  of  a  famihar  footfall  or  odor, 
but  the  acknowledgment  of  his  master  himself.     No  part 


Personal  and  Social  Consciottsness         375 

of  the  Odysseus  tale  is  more  real  to  us,  than  the  story  of 
the  faithful  dog  Argos  who,  alone,  knew  Odysseus,  returned 
after  the  long  years  of  wandering.  The  old  dog,  we  are 
told,  "  wagged  his  tail  and  laid  back  both  his  ears,  and  was 
then  overtaken  by  the  fate  of  black  death." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  then,  we  usually  do  attribute  to  ani- 
mals a  personal  consciousness,  beginning  always  with  the 
consciousness  of  a  relation  between  ourselves  and  them. 
We  smile  at  the  story  of  Dr.  John  Brown  leaning  far  out 
of  his  carriage  to  follow  with  his  eyes  "  a  dog  who  is  one 
of  my  friends";  but  most  of  us  number  animals  among  our 
acquaintances,  and  we  naturally  suppose  them  to  realize 
their  relation  to  ourselves  and  to  each  other.  Indeed,  the 
reason  why  we  revel  in  Kipling's  Jungle  Books  and  in  Er- 
nest Seton  Thompson's  closer  studies  of  animal  life  is  that 
both  writers  successfully  individualize  their  animals,  and 
necessarily,  therefore,  treat  them  as  conscious  selves  in 
personal  relations  with  other  selves.  "This,"  says  Mr. 
Thompson,  "  is  the  principle  I  have  tried  to  apply  to  my 
animals.  The  real  personality  of  the  individual  and  his 
view  of  life  are  my  theme,  rather  than  the  race  in  general." 

But  it  is  time  to  pull  ourselves  up,  rather  sharply,  with 
this  question  :  have  we  not  been  proceeding,  somewhat 
sentimentally,  to  attribute  our  own  feelings  to  the  animals .'' 
We  have  really  been  arguing  from  the  fact  that,  when  we 
caress  our  friends  or  rush  to  meet  them,  we  are  neither  fol- 
lowing blind  instincts  nor  mindful  of  any  mere  trick  of 
voice  or  attitude,  but  profoundly  conscious  of  other  selves. 
It  is  not  certain,  however,  that  animals  perform  similar 
acts  with  this  same  sort  of  personal  consciousness ;  and  we 
must  remember,  furthermore,  that  we  ourselves  often 
bestow  caresses  in  a  perfectly  mechanical  and  impersonal 
way.  We  should  therefore  scrutinize,  with  especial  care, 
our  constant  inference  that  animals  love  the  people  or  the 
other  animals,  whom  they  caress  or  fawn  upon.  Darwin, 
for  instance,  vividly  pictures  the  dog  who  "  suddenly  dis- 
covers   that   the   man  who  is  approaching  is  his  master. 


1 


76  The  Consciousness  of  Animals 


Instead  of  walking  upright,  the  body  sinks  downward  or 
even  crouches,  and  is  thrown  into  flexuous  movements ; 
his  tail,  instead  of  being  held  stiff  and  upright,  is  lowered 
and  wagged  from  side  to  side ;  his  hair  instantly  becomes 
smooth ;  his  ears  are  depressed  and  drawn  backward,  but 
not  closely  to  the  head  ;  and  his  lips  hang  loosely.  From 
the  drawing  back  of  the  ears,  the  eyelids  become  elongated, 
and  the  eyes  no  longer  appear  round  and  staring."  ^  To 
this  description,  whose  accuracy  no  one  questions,  Darwin 
adds  a  statement,  which  might  conceivably  be  challenged, 
when  he  says  that  these  movements  are  "  clearly  express- 
ive of  affection."  For  though  there  is  no  doubt  that  most 
of  us  interpret  these  movements  as  Darwin  does,  yet  we 
cannot  prove  that  they  express  more  than  impersonal  sat- 
isfaction with  familiar  odor,  look  or  'feel'  A  story  like 
the  one  which  follows  strongly  suggests  this  doubt :  — 

A  Llama  herdsman,  whose  cow  had  lost  her  calf,  replaced 
the  living  calf  by  the  skin  of  the  little  beast,  rudely  stuffed 
with  hay.  "  The  mamma,"  writes  Mr.  Hamerton,  who  tells 
the  story ,2  "  opened  enormous  eyes  at  her  beloved  infant ; 
by  degrees  she  stooped  her  head  toward  it,  then  smelt  at  it 
.  .  .  and  at  last  proceeded  to  lick  it  with  the  most  delight- 
ful tenderness."  The  sequel  of  the  story  shakes  one's  faith 
in  the  permanence  of  this  emotion.  "  By  dint  of  caressing 
and  hcking  her  little  calf,  the  tender  parent  one  fine  morn- 
ing unripped  it.  The  hay  issued  from  within,  and  the  cow, 
manifesting  not  the  slightest  surprise  nor  agitation,  pro- 
ceeded tranquilly  to  devour  the  unexpected  provender." 

Mr.  Morgan  rightly  observes  that  the  cow,  "  if  she  could 
think  at  all,  was  not  to  be  reproached  for  her  want  of  sur- 
prise at  finding  calfskin  stuffed  with  hay.  She  had  pre- 
sumably," as  he  says,  "  some  little  experience  in  putting 
hay  inside.  Why  not  7?;/<r/ hay  inside.'"  We,  however, 
are  concerned  with  another  difficulty.     If  the  caresses  of 


^  Op.  cit.,  p.  51. 

2  "  Chapters  on  Animals,"  p.  9,  quoted  by  Morgan,  op.  cit.,  p.  333. 


Personal  and  Social  Consciousness         2>11 

a  cow's  tongue  really  are  what  Darwin  calls  them,  *a  strik- 
mg  way  of  exhibiting  affection,'  then  the  emotion  of  this 
deceived  mother  must  have  been  of  an  indescribably 
evanescent  character,  else  she  would  have  shown  some 
grief  at  the  untimely  loss  of  her  child,  instead  of  tranquilly 
replacing  the  satisfaction  of  licking  calfskin  by  the  pleas- 
ure of  eating  hay.  The  truth  is,  that  the  cow  was  probably 
never  deceived  at  all.  She  licked  the  stuffed  calfskin  be- 
cause she  enjoyed  the  taste  and  the  feel  of  it,  not  because 
she  took  it  for  her  lost  calf.  The  story,  therefore,  is  dis- 
turbing to  our  preconceived  ideas,  not  because  it  proves 
that  the  cow  did  not  love  her  calf  and  grieve  for  it  —  for 
on  these  points  the  tale  is  silent  —  but  because  it  proves 
that  the  caresses  of  a  cow's  tongue  are  indications  of  sen- 
sational satisfaction,  not  expressions  of  maternal  emotion. 

The  imitations  of  animals  are  urged  as  another  evidence 
of  their  personal  social  consciousness.  Some  observers,  it 
is  true,  do  not  admit  that  the  imitativeness  of  animals  has 
been  demonstrated, ^  but  most  of  them  agree  that  certain 
acts  of  the  higher  animals  are  imitations.  Of  course,  no 
one  claims  that  all  common  animal  activities  are  imitative. 
At  one  and  the  same  moment,  on  a  summer  morning,  a 
group  of  hens  will  march  proudly  about  a  barnyard,  cut- 
cut-ca-da-cutting  after  the  same  exultant  fashion.  Yet 
their  simultaneous  duckings  are  not  imitations,  but  rather 
the  expressions  of  individual  instinct :  each  hen  would  have 
clucked  as  loudly  if  all  her  sisters  had  fallen  a  prey  to  the 
hawk  or  to  the  poulterer.  When,  however,  both  instinc- 
tive and  accidental  '  common  '  activities  have  been  excluded, 
there  remain  tolerably  clear  examples  of  activities,  acquired 
by  animals  through  imitation.  Wesley  Mills,  for  example, 
vouches  for  the  story  of  a  kitten  which  could  not  be  taught 
to  jump,  until  it  had  seen  its  mother  perform  the  trick,  and 
Morgan  concludes,  from  experimental  observation,  that 
ducks   enter   the  water   only  through    imitation    of   their 

1  Cf.  E.  B.  Thorndike,  op.  cit. 


TfjS  The  Consciousness  of  Animals 

mothers,  but  that,  once  they  have  touched  the  water,  they 
swim  instinctively.  But  admitting  the  occurrence  of  imita- 
tive animal  activities,  it  is  none  the  less  impossible  to  regard 
them  as  certain  proof  of  a  social  consciousness,  a  recogni- 
tion of  other  selves.  The  imitativeness  of  animals  does, 
indeed,  indicate  the  existence  of  a  social  life  among  them, 
but  this  is  not  the  same  as  a  social  consciousness,  and  does 
not  necessarily  show  even  a  faint  consciousness  of  *  me ' 
and  'thee.' 

We  conclude,  therefore,  that  animal  caresses  and  animal 
imitations  suggest,  yet  can  never  prove,  the  existence  of 
a  social  consciousness.  Our  belief  in  the  conscious  social 
life  of  animals  rests,  however,  on  far  more  unambiguous 
evidence,  than  these  imitated  games  and  activities  and  these 
flexuous  movements  and  impetuous  tail-waggings.  This 
stronger  evidence  consists  in  the  deliberate  actions  of  ani- 
mals, contrary  to  their  habits  and  to  their  instincts  of  self- 
preservation.  The  lives  of  animal  mothers  are  full  of 
illustrations  of  these  altruistic  acts.  Swallows  who  fly 
into  burning  houses  to  save  their  young,  partridges  who 
draw  the  attention  of  sportsmen  from  their  nests  to  them- 
selves and  whales  who  run  the  risk  of  the  harpoon,  that 
they  may  not  desert  their  wounded  children,  give  proof,  we 
are  apt  to  conclude,  of  personal  feeling.  The  attitude  of 
Seton  Thompson's  hero,  Lobo,  the  king  of  Currumpaw,  to 
Blanca  his  mate,  forms  a  striking  illustration  of  this  per- 
sonal relation  between  animals.  Lobo  was  a  wolf  who,  for 
years,  guarded  himself  and  his  followers  from  every  device 
of  man,  who  detected  poison  in  the  cunningest  preparations 
and  discovered  the  most  exquisitely  hidden  traps.  But 
when  Lobo's  mate,  the  white  wolf  Blanca,  was  captured,  he 
wandered  about,  recklessly  following  her  tracks,  and  was 
caught  at  once  by  the  traps  which  never  before  had  de- 
ceived him.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  read  the  story,  with- 
out sharing  the  conviction  of  its  writer,  that  in  some 
inarticulate  way  Lobo  cared  for  Blanca.  If  his  actions 
were  not  due  to  personal  emotion,  then  they  must  have 


Personal  and  Social  Consciousness         379 

been  occasioned  by  some  intense  sensational  impulse,  for 
example,  by  the  frenzied  following  of  an  intoxicating  odor. 
But  it  is  hard  to  imagine  that  a  mere  sensational  impulse 
of  this  sort  could  triumph  over  the  lifelong  habit,  itself 
founded  on  sensational  instincts,  of  avoiding  poison.  It  is 
surely  simpler  to  attribute  Lobo's  tragic  end  to  some  sort 
of  affection  for  Blanca.  Even  more  convincing  a  story,  of 
a  habit  broken  down  by  emotion,  is  the  tale  of  Vixen,  the 
fox,  who  deliberately  poisoned  her  own  child,  when  repeated 
attempts  to  rescue  it  from  captivity  had  failed.  There  is, 
indeed,  no  lack  of  well-authenticated  examples  of  animals, 
who  check  instinctive  reactions  of  self-preservation  or 
antagonism,  who  relinquish  pleasures  and  seek  pains, 
through  the  influence  of  some  other  self,  animal  or  human. 
The  frequent  instances  in  which  an  animal  restrains  him- 
self from  biting  the  hand  of  the  master,  who  dresses  his 
wounds,  cannot  always  be  explained  as  due  to  the  anticipa- 
tion of  help  :  very  often  they  seem  to  indicate,  on  the  part 
of  an  animal,  a  sympathetic  consciousness,  "  It  would  hurt 
the  man  if  I  should  bite  him."  This  victory  of  personal 
consciousness,  over  merely  sensational  reaction,  is  curiously 
illustrated  by  the  mock-fighting  of  animals.  Actual  fight- 
ing may  be  explained  as  conscious,  yet  immediate,  reflex 
activity.  But  a  mock  fight  demands  restraint  of  one's 
antagonistic  activities,  beyond  a  certain  point ;  and  there 
seems  to  be  no  reason  for  this  restraint  save  a  conscious- 
ness of  "  the  other  fellow  something  like  me,  whom  I  do 
not  want  to  hurt." 

The  personal  consciousness  of  animals  must,  however, 
be  very  different  from  the  personal  consciousness  of  the 
developed  human  being,  more  closely  connected  with 
primitive  wants,  and  more  limited  to  experiences  of  the 
present  hour  and  the  immediate  surroundings.  Our  con- 
clusion, that  many  animals  feel  affection  and  sympathy, 
must  not,  therefore,  pave  the  way  for  a  false  interpreta- 
tion of  their  actions,  as  indication  of  vastly  more  complex 
personal    experiences.      The    animal    books    are    full   of 


380  The  Consciotisness  of  Animals 

stories,  which  read  into  the  animal  consciousness  emotions 
that  are  pretty  certainly  human.  The  dog  with  tail 
between  his  legs  is  pointed  out  as  '  evidently  repentant ' ; 
the  animal  who  hobbles  about  as  if  lame  is  described  as 
*  deliberately  deceiving ' ;  the  monkey  who  has  bitten  his 
mistress  is  characterized  as  '  ashamed  of  himself,  hiding  his 
face  in  his  hands  and  sitting  quiet  for  a  time.'  ^  In  all 
these  instances,  we  observe  directly  only  act  or  attitude, 
and  straightway  we  interpret  it,  as  we  should  if  the  actor 
were  a  human  being,  as  indication  of  shame  or  of  deceit. 
On  the  contrary,  the  alleged  deception  may  be  the  unre- 
flective  repetition  of  a  movement,  which  has  been  in  the 
past  rewarded  by  petting  and  creature  comfort ;  the  '  re- 
pentant '  attitude  may  be  mere  shrinking  from  imagined 
punishment,  or  it  may  be,  as  was  later  found  in  the  case  of 
the  '  repentant '  monkey,  pure  fatigue  after  a  fit  of  passion. 
Our  only  source  of  knowledge  about  the  unsensational  con- 
sciousness of  animals  is,  as  we  have  seen,  the  observation 
of  their  movements  and  their  attitudes.  We  can  never 
argue  from  these  alone  that  animals  deliberate  and  will, 
still  less,  that  they  have  a  moral  consciousness. 

Thus,  we  end,  as  we  began,  with  frank  admission  of 
our  unsatisfactory  results.  We  have  not  merely,  like  all 
psychologists,  substituted  a  study  of  the  typical  conscious- 
ness for  the  vivid,  individual  biography ;  but  we  have 
carried  generalization  still  further,  and  have  been  prone  to 
reach  conclusions  about  'animals,'  instead  of  distinguishing, 
constantly  and  carefully,  the  different  orders  of  animals. 
And  we  have  been  hampered,  throughout,  by  the  indirect- 
ness of  our  method  —  the  necessity  of  inferring  conscious 
experiences  from  a  study  of  end-organs  and  of  bodily 
movements.  We  cannot,  then,  avoid  the  dispiriting  con- 
clusion that  we  are  deeply  ignorant  of  the  lives  of  our 
animal  friends.     The  probable  difference,  in  the  scope  and 

^  Romanes,  "Animal  Intelligence,''  p.  444. 


The  Consciousness  of  Animals  381 

in  the  intensity  of  sensation,  and  the  obvious  difference 
in  interest  make  their  world  of  observation  materially 
different  from  ours.  Their  ignorance  of  the  unseen  uni- 
verses, of  history  and  of  science,  narrows  their  imagined 
world,  beyond  the  power  of  our  imagination  to  conceive. 
The  number  and  precision  of  their  instinctive  acts  stand 
them  in  the  stead  of  reasoning.  Therefore  "  we  always," 
Mr.  Hamerton  says,^  "  commit  one  of  two  mistakes ; 
either  we  conclude  the  beasts  have  great  knowledge  be- 
cause they  are  so  clever,  or  else  we  fancy  that  they  must 
be  stupid  because  they  are  so  ignorant."  We  are  not 
even  able  to  interpret  their  suffering  and  their  satisfac- 
tion, perhaps  undervaluing  its  momentary  poignancy,  but, 
almost  certainly,  forgetting  that  they  must  be  less  con- 
scious than  we  of  past  and  of  future,  and  that  they  must, 
therefore,  miss  much  of  the  sweetness  and  the  anguish 
of  anticipation,  of  the  sadness  and  the  delight  of  retro- 
spect. Still  less  can  we  venture  to  interpret  dogmati- 
cally their  social  consciousness,  their  emotional  relations 
to  their  fellows  and  to  us.  Yet  perhaps  we  are  nowhere 
safer  in  our  inference,  than  in  the  conclusion  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  animals  is,  in  some  sense,  like  ours,  a  social 
one,  and  that  they  too  may  love  and  hate,  may  be  treacher- 
ous or  faithful. 

^  Quoted  by  Morgan,  op.  cit.,  p.  355. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
THE   PSYCHOLOGY    OF   THE  CHILD'S    CONSCIOUSNESS 

The  study  of  the  conscious  life  of  children  is  pursued, 
to-day,  in  part  only,  for  the  light  it  throws  on  problems  of 
general  psychology.^  This  relation  to  adult  psychology  is, 
to  be  sure,  always  recognized.  The  fundamental  charac- 
teristics of  the  conscious  life  appear,  it  is  evident,  in  greater 
isolation  in  the  earlier  periods  of  development,  and  although 
one  can  never  argue,  with  certainty,  from  the  presence  or 
absence  of  an  element  of  consciousness  in  an  earlier  stage 
of  life,  to  its  presence  or  absence  at  a  later  period,  one  may 
better  learn  to  know  it  in  the  earlier  and  simpler  conscious- 
ness, and  thus  more  readily  recognize  it  in  the  greater  coni- 
plexity  of  the  developed  consciousness.  In  the  same  way, 
then,  in  which  we  train  ourselves  to  detect  the  overtones  of 
a  clang  by  listening,  first,  to  the  same  tones  in  isolation,  we 
shall  better  understand  the  emotions,  for  example,  by 
studying  fear  in  the  life  of  the  child  who  is  not  ashamed 
to  betray  his  feeling,  or  by  observing  childish  envy,  which 
is  unadulterated  by  moral  scrapie. 

The  impetus  toward  child-study  is,  nevertheless,  more 
personal  than  technical,  and  due  rather  to  human  interest 
than  to  scientific  concern.  One  need  not  be  a  student  — 
one  has  only  to  be  father  or  sister  or  teacher  or  kindly 
human  being  —  to  be  vitally  interested,  in  the  investigation 
of  the  conscious  life,  behind  the  sometimes  impenetrable 
screen  of  child-eyes  and  child-lips,  and  in  the  interpreta- 
tion of   the  ceaseless  activity  of   the  child's   body.     The 

1  Several  paragraphs  of  Chapter  XXVI.,  are  quoted  from  a  paper  by  the 
writer,  "The  ReHgious  Consciousness  of  Children,"  in  the  New  World,  Dec. 
1896. 

382 


Child-shidy  383 

commonly  effective  motive  in  child-study  is  thus  the  per- 
sonal, the  ethical,  or  the  pedagogical,  not  the  scientific ; 
and  the  psychic  life  of  the  child  is  usually  observed  in  the 
belief  that  "  the  greatest  value  of  this  work  is  "  in  drawing 
one  "toward  the  highest  object  of  human  affection,  the 
object  most  worthy  of  reverence,  love  and  sacrifice,  —  the 
growing  child."  ^ 

This  claim,  it  is  true,  does  not  go  unchallenged.  Child- 
study,  it  has  been  objected,  tends  to  foster  an  unhealthy 
self-consciousness  in  the  child ;  it  also  changes  the  teacher 
from  the  friend,  with  wise  and  sympathetic  interest,  to  the 
critical  and  dispassionate  observer,  actually  crippled  in  his 
power  to  enter  into  personal  relations  with  the  child.  "My 
children,"  says  Professor  Miinsterberg,  who  strongly  cham- 
pions this  view,  "  are  for  me  not  phenomena,  not  objects  of 
perception,  .  .  .  but  objects  of  my  will,  my  love,  my  duty. 
.  .  .  You  may  artificially  train  yourself,"  he  adds,  "to 
fluctuate  between  these  two  attitudes,  to  observe  in  one 
moment  what  you  loved  in  the  moment  before,  but  the  one 
will  always  interfere  with  the  other."  ^  At  precisely  this 
point,  however.  Dr.  Miinsterberg's  assertions  maybe  ques- 
tioned. The  attitude  of  the  scientific  observer  does  indeed 
differ  from  that  of  the  devoted  friend  or  teacher,  but  the 
results  of  previous  study  may  quicken  insight,  enlarge  wis- 
dom, and  add  comprehension  to  love.  A  statistical  or 
experimental  study  of  childhood  may  certainly  be  as  dis- 
passionate and  as  unemotional  as  the  study  of  a  fossil  or  of 
an  Aryan  root ;  but  the  results  of  such  a  study  may  also 
minister  to  the  needs  of  the  personal  life. 

The  account,  which  follows,  of  the  child-consciousness  is 
based  on  the  records  of  two  forms  of  child-study :  first, 
upon  close  observations  of  one  child  in  its  development 
from  birth  onward,  and  second,  upon  topical  studies  of  a 
given  psychic  phenomenon,  say  of  anger  or  of  imagination, 
as  manifested  in  a  group  of  children  of  the  same  age  and 

1  Sara  E.  Wiltse,  Pedagogical  Seminary,  Vol.  III.,  p.  212. 
'^  Journal  of  Education,  May,  1895. 


384  The  Conscious7iess  of  the  Baby 

environment.     These  latter  studies  have  been  mainly  con- 
cerned with  children  of  school-age. 


I.   The  Consciousness  of  the  Baby 

The  study  of  the  baby-consciousness,  like  that  of  the 
animal-consciousness,  is  through  inference,  first,  from  the 
stage  of  development  of  end-organs  and  cerebral  centres, 
second,  and  most  important,  from  the  baby's  bodily  atti- 
tudes and  movements.  In  the  study  of  older  children, 
the  observation  of  their  actions  is  interpreted  by  the 
observer's  memory  of  his  own  childhood,  and  supple- 
mented by  the  child's  account  of  his  own  experience. 

The  normal  baby  has  sensations  of  all  sorts  within  the 
first  few  weeks  after  birth.  This  is  inferred  both  from  the 
condition,  at  birth,  of  the  sense-organs,  and  from  the  early 
movements  of  the  child.  The  structure  of  the  organs  in 
the  skin,  and  of  the  taste  bulbs,  is  complete  before  birth,  and 
it  is  therefore  entirely  possible  that  the  child  has  pre-natal 
sensations  of  pressure,  pain,  warmth,  cold  and  taste.  The 
mechanism  of  the  eye,  also,  is  fully  developed  in  the  embryo, 
but  Hght-stimulation  is,  of  course,  possible  only  after  birth. 
Smell-stimulation  requires  air  in  the  nasal  cavities,  so  that 
there  cannot  be  pre-natal  smell  sensations,  and  the  ear  is  not 
cleared  of  the  viscous  matter  which  fills  the  drum  cavity, 
nor  is  it  reached  by  the  air  for  some  time  after  birth. 

Corresponding  with  these  facts,  are  the  phenomena  of  a 
child's  early  movements.  Reactions  to  contact  with  the 
tongue,  lips  and  palms  of  new-born  children  have  been 
repeatedly  observed.  Stimulation,  with  quinine  and  sugar 
solutions,  of  the  tongues  of  babies,  in  their  first  minutes  and 
hours,  have  been  followed  by  distinct  and  characteristic 
facial  expressions.  Experiments  with  strong  odors,  such 
as  asafoetida,  on  babies  (most  of  them  less  than  a  day,  and 
some  of  them  less  than  an  hour,  old)  have  occasioned  un- 
easy movements  of  body  and  of  facial  muscles.  Sensibility 
to  light  is  shown,  by  turning  toward  it  in  the  first  few  min- 


Sensational  Elements  385 

utes  of  life ;-  but  coordination  of  the  movements  of  the  two 
eyes,  the  fixation  of  objects  and  the  trick  of  following  a 
moving  object,  with  the  eyes,  are  the  results  of  experience, 
often  extending  over  several  months.  To  sound-stimuli, 
however,  newly  born  children  certainly  do  not  at  once  react. 
Setting  aside  cases  in  which  the  whole  body  is  jarred  by 
the  vibrations  caused  by  a  loud  noise,  we  find  that  the 
"  period  of  beginning  to  hear  varies  with  individual  chil- 
dren from  the  sixth  hour  to  the  third  week."  ^ 

Very  early,  therefore,  in  his  life,  the  child  is  provided 
with  sense  material  of  every  type.  His  experience,  how- 
ever, in  this  very  primitive  stage  is  doubtless  utterly  cha- 
otic and  undifferentiated.  As  James  says,^  "  the  body, 
assailed  by  eyes,  ears,  nose,  skin  and  entrails  at  once,  feels 
it  all  as  one  great,  blooming,  buzzing  confusion."  The 
adult  approximates  to  this  experience,  in  the  moments  of 
recovery  from  a  fainting  fit  or  of  gradual  awakening  from 
a  deep  sleep.  His  consciousness,  in  such  moments,  is  an 
undistinguished  conglomerate,  say  of  colors,  sounds,  press- 
ures and  discomforts,  a  very  turbulent  solution,  as  it  were, 
which  only  gradually  precipitates  the  consciousness  of 
distinct  things  and  of  selves.  Almost  everybody  knows 
what  it  is,  to  have  this  confusion  of  undiscriminated  ele- 
ments give  place  to  a  consciousness  of  familiar  objects  and 
of  well-known  selves.  Such  a  confusion  of  thronging  feel- 
ings is  somewhat  like  the  earliest  stage  of  the  conscious 
life.  Almost  from  the  very  first,  however,  some  parts 
of  this  chaotic  experience  are  emphasized  at  the  expense 
of  others.  Certain  instinctive  interests  soon  assert  them- 
selves, the  attention  to  intense  sensations  is  very  early 
developed,  and  any  element  of  consciousness,  repeatedly 
experienced  in  different  combinations,  is  discriminated  and 
attended  to.     Thus,  the  child  soon  gains  an  especial  inter- 

^  F.  Tracy,  "The  Psychology  of  Childhood,"  2d  ed.,  p.  21.  Tracy  presents 
an  excellent  summary  of  results,  up  to  1891,  of  the  study  of  the  baby's  expe- 
rience.     See,  also,  Tracy's  P.ildicigraphy. 

2  Op.  cii.,  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  .\lil.,  p.^SS. 

2C 


386  TJic  Consciousness  of  the  Baby 

est  in  certain  parts  of  his  environment,  and  learns  to  dis- 
criminate one  color  from  another,  colors  from  forms, 
pitch  from  loudness  and  pressure  from  warmth. 

It  is  probable  that  the  careful  study  of  most  children 
would  confirm  the  important  conclusion  of  a  close  and 
accurate  observer,  that  the  so-called  higher  sensations, 
visual  and  auditory,  are  earlier  discriminated  than  the  sen- 
sations of  pressure,  smell  and  taste,  which  are  more  im- 
mediately connected  with  bodily  welfare.  "  Contrary  to 
accepted  opinion  and  to  my  own  expectation,"  Miss  Shinn 
writes,^  "  so  far  from  finding  an  early  dominance  of  taste 
and  smell,  displaced  later,  ...  I  found  a  lively  attention 
to  sight  impressions  very  early,  slowly  overtaken  by  atten- 
tion to  other  sensations." 

Most  studies  of  a  child's  sense-discrimination  are  studies, 
also,  of  his  affective  consciousness,  his  preference  for  cer- 
tain colors  or  sounds  or  tastes.  So  far  as  one  may  judge 
from  attitude  and  expression,  and  from  movements  of 
approach  and  of  retreat,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
a  child  very  early  experiences  pleasure  and  dissatisfaction. 
Sweet  tastes,  rhythmic  movements,  soft  sounds,  light  and 
warmth  almost  always  seem  to  be  pleasant.  Bitter  tastes, 
jolting  movements,  loud  sounds,  darkness  and  cold,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  apparently  unpleasant.  And  in  spite  of 
the  absence  of  conclusive  experiments,  it  is  fair  to  say  that 
observation  tends  to  suggest  a  common  preference  for  the 
warmer  colors.  It  is  usually  assumed,  also,  not  only  that  a 
child  discriminates  colors  far  better  than  forms,  but  that  he 
prefers  the  colors.  Miss  Shinn's  observations,  have,  how- 
ever, shown  definitely  that  this  is  not  a  universal  relation. 
From  the  eleventh  month,  when  Miss  Shinn's  niece  began 
to  recognize  uncolored  pictures,  there  was  never  an  indi- 
cation of  preference  for  colored  pictures,  and  the  inde- 
pendent interest  in  the  outlines  of   letters,  figures,  trees 

1  "Notes  on  the  Development  of  a  Child,"  Pt.  II.,  p.  177. 


Affections  and  Emotions  387 

and  flowers  was  very  noticeable.  This  conclusion  has 
since  been  supplemented  and  confirmed  by  the  results  of  a 
test,  with  colored  and  uncolorcd  pictures,  on  school  chil- 
dren of  various  ages.^  Interest  and  apparent  pleasure,  in 
rhythmic  motions  and  sounds  and  in  melody,  is  relatively 
early,  and  has  been  noticed  in  the  fourth  month. ^  It  is  indi- 
cated, at  first,  by  a  movement  of  the  head  toward  the  sound, 
and  a  little  later,  by  imitative  movements  and  sounds. 

Darwin  classes  the  evident  pleasure  in  music  as  '  first  of 
the  aesthetic  sentiments,'  ^  and  this  generalization  suggests 
to  us  the  important  subject  of  children's  emotions.  The 
confusion  of  bodily  movement  with  conscious  experience 
is  as  easy  here  as  in  the  parallel  study  of  animal-con- 
sciousness. The  shrinking  of  a  few-weeks-old  baby  at  a 
sudden  sound  is  often  described  as  fear;  the  'frowning 
and  wrinkling  of  the  skin  around  the  eyes  before  crying ' 
is  interpreted  by  Darwin*  as  his  baby's  sign  of  anger. 
Darwin  adds,  to  be  sure,  "  this  may  have  been  pain,  not 
anger,"  but  he  has  no  doubt  that  anger  occurs  in  the 
fourth  month.  The  truth,  however,  as  we  have  seen  be- 
fore, is  that  these  bodily  attitudes  and  movements,  the 
shrinking  of  so-called  fear,  for  example,  may  be  uncon- 
scious reflex  movements.  Even  if  they  are  conscious, 
they  may  accompany  experiences  which  do  not  resemble 
what  we  know  as  emotions.  For  fear  and  anger  and  the 
rest  involve  a  relatively  developed  self-consciousness ;  and 
the  baby's  earliest  experience  must  therefore  be  unemo- 
tional. Indeed,  if  we  recall  the  abject  terrors  of  our  own 
childhood,  such  as  corridors  which  we  feared  to  enter  for 
dread  of  lurking  bears  or  robbers,  or  the  big  policeman 
whom  we  avoided  for  fear  of  a  mysterious  fate  named 
'  prison,'  we  shall  realize  that  these  fears  were  all  ac- 
quired, the  evident  work  of  nursemaids  or  playmates  or 
of  story-books.     The  results,  though  numerically  few,  of 

i"Wellesley  College  Psychological  Studies,"  Psyi-/iolo,i;ical  /\e7'ie7ii.  Vol. 
VII.,  1900,  p.  580.  2  (;;f_  Tracy,  op.  ii(.,  ist  ed.,  p.  33. 

3  "  Mind,"  O.  S.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  289.  4  Jfnd.,  p.  287. 


388  The  Consciousness  of  the  Baby 

a  study  of  children's  fears,  confirms  this  opinion  of  all 
thoughtful  observers  of  children.  Miss  Fackenthal  found  ^ 
that  nine,  out  of  twenty-three  children  under  three  years, 
were  reported  by  their  parents  to  be  without  fear ;  that 
only  six,  of  fifty-two  children  between  three  and  six  years 
old,  were  entirely  fearless ;  and  finally  that  all,  save  one, 
of  one  hundred  and  twenty-seven  school  children  about 
twelve  years  old,  had  fears  of  one  sort  or  of  another,  most 
often  the  purely  imaginary  fear  of  wild  animals. 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  identify  relational  elements  in  the 
consciousness  of  the  child  who  does  not  yet  speak.  It  is 
clear  that  a  child  early  has  images,  cerebrally  excited,  of 
absent  objects,  as  well  as  percepts  of  things  about  him. 
Perez  relates,  for  example,  that  a  child  of  three  months, 
on  hearing  the  word  co-co,  turned  about  and  looked  for 
the  bird-cage,  and  that  a  child  of  six  months  shrank  back 
from  a  hot  dish  which  a  few  days  before  had  burned  him.^ 
But  the  occurrence  of  memory-images  does  not,  as  we 
have  seen,  of  necessity  imply  recognition,  the  conscious- 
ness of  familiarity.  Nevertheless,  though  it  is  impossible 
to  assure  oneself  that  the  baby  actually  recognizes  people 
or  things,  certain  bodily  movements,  his  outstretched  hands 
and  his  smile,  at  first  hesitating  then  eager,  are  most 
readily  interpreted  as  recognition.  There  is  no  experi- 
mental evidence,  to  show  that  any  type  of  experience  is 
better  remembered  than  another,  but  an  interesting  obser- 
vation of  Baldwin  suggests  that  a  complex  experience  is 
more  readily  recognized  than  a  simple  one.  Baldwin's 
child  of  six  months  and  a  half  failed  to  recognize  either 
the  figure  or  the  voice  of  a  nurse,  who  had  been  three 
weeks  away,  but  joyfully  recognized  the  nurse  when  she 
entered  the  room  singing.  The  summation  of  sense-stim- 
uli seemed  to  facilitate  recognition.^ 

1  "  Wellesley  College  Psychological  Studies,"  Pedagogical  Seminary,  Vol. 
III.,  p.  319. 

"^  Cf.  Tracy,  op.  cit.,  ist  ed.,  p.  142,  for  account  of  both  cases. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  40,  referring  to  Science,  May,  1890. 


Sclf-consciotisness  389 

There  is  little,  doubt  that  the  baby,  long  before  he  can 
speak,  is  conscious  of  similarities.  It  is  incorrect,  to  be 
sure,  to  assume  that  identical  reactions  are  a  certain  indi- 
cation of  this  feehng  of  likeness.  When,  for  instance,  the 
baby  holds  out  his  arms  to  every  man  whom  he  sees,  this 
action  may  simply  show  a  failure  to  discriminate  other 
men  from  his  father;  but  the  child  who  was  taught  the 
letter  o  in  her  twelfth  month,  and  who  "  a  little  later  found 
a  large  q  on  a  letter  card  and  held  it  out  with  a  question- 
ing sound,"  ^  was  evidently  conscious  of  a  resemblance ; 
and  the  child  of  fourteen  months  who  was  observed  "  to 
feel  his  own  ears  and  then  his  mother's,  one  day  when 
looking  at  pictures  of  rabbits,"  must  have  been  impelled  to 
this  action  by  a  consciousness  of  likeness  and  of  difference. 

From  the  pedagogical  or  personal  standpoint,  the  most 
absorbing  topic  of  child-psychology  is  the  nature  and 
growth  of  the  child's  self-consciousness.  According  to 
the  theory  set  forth  in  this  book,  all  consciousness  is,  it  is 
true,  in  a  certain  sense  self-consciousness,  but  the  undis- 
criminated, conglomerate  consciousness  of  one's  own  body, 
resembling,  as  we  have  seen,  the  sleepy  adult  conscious- 
ness, is  only  in  a  very  vague  and  inarticulate  way  a  self- 
consciousness,  and  can  only  faintly  resemble  what  we 
know  as  the  consciousness  of  ourselves.  It  is,  strictly 
speaking,  impossible  for  us  to  assign  a  period  at  which  a 
child  becomes  definitely  conscious  of  himself,  as  related 
to  other  selves,  and  as  contrasted  with  things,  for  no  actions 
of  his  can  be  unequivocally  interpreted  as  requiring  dis- 
tinct self-consciousness.  We  may,  however,  describe  with 
a  high  degree  of  probability,  certain  accompaniments  of 
the  growing  self-consciousness  of  a  child. 

The  growth  of  interest  in  human  bodies  is,  in  the  first 
place,  evident.  From  the  very  first,  the  satisfaction  of  the 
baby's  hunger,  his  escape  from  pain  and,  in  truth,  all  his 

1  "  Notes  on  the  Development  of  a  Child,"  Vol.  I.,  p.  58. 


390  The  Consciousness  of  the  Baby 

pleasures,  are  connected  with  those  facts  of  his  experience 
which  are  later  known  as  people.  Human  bodies,  also, 
present  certain  permanent  features,  of  voice  and  of  appear- 
ance, against  a  background  of  varying  dress  and  position, 
and  for  this  reason  they  are  earlier  discriminated.  They 
are,  furthermore,  primitively  interesting  because  of  their 
great  mobility.  Everybody  knows  that  moving  objects 
are  more  readily  noticed  than  quiet  ones ;  a  signal,  unob- 
served on  a  quiet  day,  is  seen  at  once  when  it  floats  in 
the  breeze,  and  a  crab,  which  has  lain  for  hours  undis- 
tinguished from  sea-anemones  and  waving  seaweed,  is 
immediately  recognized  as  it  scuttles  across  the  surface 
of  the  rock.  A  baby  early  learns  to  follow  moving  objects 
with  his  eyes,  and  is  naturally  interested  in  the  human 
bodies  which  surround  him,  since  they  are  by  all  odds  the 
most  restless  part  of  his  environment,  constantly  rising 
and  sitting  down  and  walking  about  and  changing  their 
position.  Baldwin  suggests  still  another  reason  for  a 
baby's  interest  in  people.  At  a  very  early  stage,  as  he 
points  out,  the  child  recognizes  vaguely  the  uncertainty 
of  the  experiences  associated  with  people.  "  This  grow- 
ing sense,"  he  observes,  ^  "  is  very  clear  to  one  who  watches 
an  infant  in  his  second  half-year.  Sometimes  its  mother 
gives  a  biscuit,  and  sometimes  she  does  not.  Sometimes 
the  father  smiles  and  tosses  the  child ;  sometimes  he  does 
not.  And  the  child  looks  for  signs  of  these  varying 
moods  and  methods  of  treatment.  Its  action  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  persons  of  the  household  becomes  hesitating 
and  watchful.  Especially  does  it  watch  the  face  for  any 
expressive  indications  of  what  treatment  may  be  expected." 
Along  with  this  growing  interest  in  people's  bodies  and 
the  developing  recognition  and  discrimination  of  them, 
it  is  highly  likely  that  there  goes  the  widening  and  differ- 
entiation of  the  child's  self-consciousness.  The  develop- 
ment of  his  imitative  activities  is  doubtless  a  second  potent 

1  "  Mental  Development  in  Child  and  Race,"  p.  123. 


Sclf-couscioiisness  391 

factor  in  this  experience.  Originally,  the  baby  must  re- 
flect on  these  imitations,  for  example,  the  rhythmic  move- 
ments of  his  head  and  hands,  and  must  compare  them 
with  their  models ;  and  because  his  imitative  movements 
include  motor  as  well  as  visual  sensations,  they  must 
therefore  contribute  to  the  baby's  consciousness  of  his 
own  body  as  distinct  from  other  bodies.^ 

It  is  quite  true  that  we  have  not  succeeded  in  tracing 
to  its  source  the  consciousness  of  self,  in  its  relation  to 
other  selves  and  to  things ;  and  we  have  merely  suggested 
certain  possible  factors  in  the  development.  Yet  hypotheti- 
cal as  all  this  is,  one  negative  conclusion  may  be  empha- 
sized. We  may  confidently  reject  the  popular  theory  that 
the  child  first  becomes  conscious  of  himself  and  his  body, 
and  that  later,  observing  the  resemblance  of  other  bodies  to 
his  own,  he  'ejects'  his  consciousness  into  them,  that  is, 
infers  that  these  bodies,  so  hke  his  own,  must  be  connected 
with  consciousness  Hke  his  own.  The  unhkelihood  of  this 
explanation  is  evident.  For  it  is  certain  —  if  any  inference 
may  be  drawn  from  a  baby's  movements  to  his  conscious- 
ness —  that  he  is  earlier  conscious  of  other  people's  bodies 
than  of  his  own.  Many  months  pass  before  a  baby  gains 
a  knowledge  of  his  own  body,  through  explorations  of  one 
leg  by  another,  and  through  slow  discoveries  of  the  con- 
nection between  head  and  arms  and  body.  Long  before 
this  result  is  reached,  the  baby  has  been  following  other 
people's  movements  with  his  eyes,  and  has  shown,  by  other 
motions  of  his  own,  that  he  is  conscious  of  them.  Even 
his  first  imitative  movements  are  performed  with  apparent 
unconsciousness  of  them,  but  with  fixed  attention  to  the 
movements  which  he  is  imitating. 

We  have  the  right  to  conclude  that  the  baby's  conscious- 
ness of  other  selves  is  not  an  inference  from  the  observed 
hkeness  of  their  bodies  to  his  own.  But  we  are  not  free 
to  conclude  that  the  relation    is   precisely  reversed,    and 

1  Cf.  Royce,  Philosophical  Revieiv,  Vol.  III.,  September,  1894. 


392       The  Consciousness  of  Little  Children 

that  a  baby  is  first  conscious  of  other  selves,  and  thus  led 
to  a  consciousness  of  himself.  For  the  truth,  as  we  have 
already  so  often  realized,  is  that  one  is  never  conscious  of 
others  except  as  related  to  oneself,  and  seldom  if  ever  con- 
scious of  oneself  except  as  connected  with  other  selves.  So, 
whatever  the  date  of  the  emergence  of  a  definite  self-con- 
sciousness, there  can  be  no  distinction  of  time  between  the 
consciousness  of  oneself  and  that  of  other  selves.  Many 
observers  believe  that  they  can  trace  this  experience  back 
into  the  later  months  of  the  first  year  of  life,  and  no  one, 
however  far-reaching  his  memory,  has  any  knowledge  of 
a  time  when  he  was  not  distinctly  conscious  of  himself,  in 
his  relations  to  other  selves. 

II.     The  Consciousness  of  Little  Children 

An  exhaustive  study  of  the  consciousness  of  children, 
beyond  the  age  of  babyhood,  is  plainly  impossible  within 
the  Hmits  of  such  a  chapter  as  this.  Indeed,  the  materials, 
adequate  to  such  a  study,  do  not  exist,  for  investigations 
of  the  child-consciousness  have  been  either  observations, 
often  fragmentary,  of  a  few  individuals,  or  else  they  have 
been  incomplete  statistical  investigations,  considering  only 
limited  questions  and  involving  particular  ages  and  sur- 
roundings. A  few  generalizations  may,  none  the  less,  be 
ventured  upon.  They  have  the  unquestionable  advantage 
of  challenging  our  own  introspection,  that  is,  our  memory 
of  our  childhood  experiences.  Untrustworthy  as  these 
memories  are,  from  the  length  of  time  which  has  passed, 
they  form  our  best  standard,  for  the  interpretation  of 
children's  words  and  actions. 

The  most  significant  truth  about  the  childhood  con- 
sciousness is  this,  that  no  hard-and-fast  lines  can  be  drawn 
between  adult  and  childhood  experience.  The  greatest 
error,  in  our  ordinary  estimate  of  the  mind  of  a  little  child, 
is  exactly  opposed  to  the  mistake  which  we  commonly  make 
about  the  baby's  consciousness.     We  are  apt  to  conclude, 


Emotion  and  Tkotight  393 

from  a  baby's  quick  movements,  that  he  knows  and  feels 
more  than  he  does.  On  the  other  hand,  we  virtually  imply, 
by  our  treatment  of  little  children,  that  they  have  one  sort 
of  consciousness  and  that  grown  people  have  quite  another 
sort.  Such  a  theory  runs  counter,  to  the  results  of  our 
study  of  even  the  baby-mind,  for  we  have  found  strong 
proof  that,  within  the  first  years,  the  child  possesses  all  the 
elements  of  his  lifetime's  experience.  And  no  one  can 
intimately  know  children  or  vividly  remember  his  own 
childhood,  without  the  conviction  that  a  child  is  equal  to 
abstract  thought  and  to  intricate  reasoning,  as  well  as  to 
accurate  memorizing  ;  that  his  heart  may  be  not  only  open 
to  the  gentle  emotions  of  love  and  pity,  but  a  prey  to  the 
devastating  passions  of  jealousy  and  envy  ;  and  that  he 
is  capable  of  great  loyalties,  of  high  determinations  and  of 
tremendous  conflicts  of  will. 

There  are  in  truth  wide  differences  between  the  child- 
hood and  the  adult  experience.  They  consist,  however, 
not  in  the  child's  lack  of  fundamental  forms  of  conscious- 
ness, but  in  his  lack  of  certain  specific  experiences,  and  in 
his  greater  interest  in  other  experiences.  This  is  clearly 
shown  by  any  sympathetic  observation  of  the  emotional 
life  of  children.  We  may  consider,  first,  the  delights  of 
life  which  we  grown  people  do  not  share  with  them  —  for 
example,  the  little  child's  ecstatic  joy  in  mere  running  and 
jumping  and  shouting,  without  apparent  end  or  purpose. 
Evidently,  this  is  a  result  of  that  perfect  exuberance  of 
vigor  which  few  adults  experience,  but  as  enjoyment,  it 
certainly  does  not  differ  from  the  satisfaction  which  a 
grown  person  gains  from  a  swinging  walk  or  from  a  brisk 
dumb-bell  exercise.  A  child's  pleasure  in  his  collections 
is  another  instance  of  the  same  sort.  He  eagerly  amasses 
objects  far  removed  from  a  grown  person's  interest,  old 
bottles,  garish  advertisements  or  common  buttons,  but 
his  delight  in  these  possessions  is  the  very  same  sort  of 
feeling  as  his  mother's  enjoyment  of  her  collection  of  rare 
laces  or  his  father's  eagerness  to  secure  first  editions. 


394       ^/^^'  Consciousness  of  Little  Children 

The  griefs  and  fears  of  the  child  are,  in  the  same  way, 
conditioned  by  his  ignorance.  It  is  usually  held  that  a 
child  is  incapable  of  deep  emotion,  because  he  is  unmoved 
by  desolating  bereavements  and  separations.  The  truth  is, 
rather,  that  the  child  does  not  sorrow,  because  he  does  not 
know  or  understand.  Mrs.  Burnett  has  made  this  very 
clear,  in  her  charming  story  of  "The  One  I  knew  the  Best 
of  All."  "  Papa  in  her  mind  was  represented  by  a  gentle- 
man who  had  curling  brown  hair,  and  who  laughed  and 
said  affectionately  funny  things,"  but  "  she  did  not  feel 
very  familiar  with  him  and  did  not  see  him  very  often  "  ; 
and  "  when  some  one  carried  her  into  a  bedroom  and  .  .  . 
held  her  that  she  might  look  down  at  papa  lying  quite  still 
upon  the  pillow  .  .  .  she  was  not  frightened,  and  looked 
down  with  quiet  interest  and  respect."  But  this  same 
little  girl,  incapable  both  of  sorrow  for  the  father  whom 
she  did  not  really  know  and  of  frightened  awe  in  the  face 
of  the  mystery  which  she  did  not  realize  as  mystery,  used 
to  wake  with  terror  at  night,  and  tremble  through  the  day, 
at  the  joking  threat  of  a  big  policeman.  She  was  not, 
then,  incapable  of  emotion,  but  she  could  feel  emotion 
only  when  she  stood  in  a  close  personal  relation ;  and  she 
was  too  ignorant  either  to  look  forward  to  the  conse- 
quences of  her  father's  death  or  to  estimate,  at  its  proper 
value,  the  big  policeman's  threat. 

The  poverty  of  the  child's  experience,  coupled  with  the 
vividness  of  his  imagination,  is  responsible  for  his  most 
abandoned  delight  and  for  his  most  palpitating  fears. 
Pegasus,  the  Chim?era  and  the  Golden  Fleece  are  as  real 
to  him  as  the  butcher's  horse  and  the  house-cat  and  the 
tiger-skin  rug  in  the  drawing-room  ;  and  he  simply  doesn't 
know  enough  of  the  ways  of  this  world  to  realize  that 
winged  horses  and  fire-breathing  dragons  belong  to  a 
story-world  only.  So  he  dreads  the  dark,  which  prevents 
his  seeing  and  guarding  himself  against  the  lurking  mon- 
ster, and  he  pleases  himself  with  enchanting  dreams  of 
winged  horses  and  of  treasures  rivalling  the  Golden  Fleece. 


Emotion  and  Thought  395 

An  adult  would  be  incapable  of  these  special  fears  and 
pleasures ;  but  as  fears  and  pleasures,  irrespective  of  their 
objects,  the  child's  experiences  do  not  differ  from  the  adult 
emotions.  Moreover,  far  more  often  than  we  realize,  chil- 
dren share  in  emotions  commonly  supposed  to  be  exclusive 
possessions  of  the  adult.  ^Esthetic  joy  is  probably  one  of 
these.  One  can  hardly  read  Pierre  Loti's  accounts  of  his 
childhood  delight — in  the  sunsets  seen  from  the  high  win- 
dows of  '  Grandetante  Berthe,'  in  the  forests  of  Limoise,  in 
the  blue  dome  of  the  sky,  as  it  arched  over  the  chateau  of 
Castelnan  —  without  the  conviction  that  children  may  early 
experience  that  which  we  know  as  aesthetic  feeling. 

Quite  as  common  as  the  conviction  that  little  children 
are  careless  and  rather  heartless  little  animals,  with  an 
emotional  life  entirely  their  own,  is  the  theory  that  they 
do  not  think  or  reason,  that  their  vivid  imaginations  and 
their  relatively  ready  memories  really  take  the  place  of  the 
later  developed  capacity  to  reason.  Now  it  is  highly  prob- 
able, as  we  know,  that  the  sensational  and  affective  con- 
sciousness precedes  the  relational,  in  the  conscious  life  of 
the  baby  ;  but  there  is  every  likelihood  that  the  child  of  two 
years  compares  and  recognizes  ;  and  the  statements  of  little 
children,  together  with  grown  people's  memories  of  their 
earliest  years,  tend  strongly  to  confirm  the  belief  that  even 
little  children  reflect  and  reason.  We  are  apt  to  deny  that 
they  reason  because  their  actions  seem  to  us  so  absurd. 
We  forget  that  the  premises,  on  which  their  reflection  is 
based,  are  conditioned  by  that  same  poverty  of  experience 
which  so  affects  the  objects  of  their  emotion. 

These  conclusions  have  a  very  practical  bearing,  and 
though,  as  psychologists,  we  have  no  real  right  to  moralize, 
we  shall  nevertheless  indulge  ourselves  in  a  pedagogical 
observation.  The  perverse  and  persistent  confusion  of  chil- 
dren's undoubted  ignorance  of  the  world's  ways,  with  their 
alleged  incapacity  for  thought  and  for  serious  feeling,  is 
responsible  for  most  of  the  mistakes  we  make  in  our 
dealings  with  them.     The  common  misfortune  of  a  child's 


396       The  Consciotisncss  of  Little  Children 

experience  is  its  isolation.  He  early  learns  that  he  is 
considered  a  being  apart.  He  may  be  royally  cared  for 
and  devotedly  loved,  but  he  is  not  understood,  and  he  is 
accounted  incapable  of  understanding  much  which  goes 
on  about  him.  Under  these  circumstances,  he  lives  his 
life  alone.  He  does  not  recount  his  pleasures,  because  he 
knows  that  no  one  will  enjoy  them  with  him;  he  silently 
endures  his  fears,  because  he  cannot  bear  to  have  them 
laughed  at ;  he  does  not  confide  his  perplexities,  for  he 
knows  that  nobody  suspects  him  of  thinking  about  the 
disquieting  subjects.  So  his  whole  childhood  maybe  dark- 
ened, by  tormenting  fears  of  evil  spirits,  who  will  pounce 
upon  him  if  he  inadvertently  treads  on  the  seam  of  a  car- 
pet, or  by  disturbing  religious  doubts,  quite  unsuspected  by 
the  parents  who  might  readily  set  them  at  rest.  The  truth 
is,  that  the  natural  and  happy  development  of  a  child  is 
conditioned  on  a  relation  of  entire  confidence  in  older 
friends,  who  can  control  his  emotional  and  reflective  life 
by  enlarging  his  knowledge  and  by  correcting  his  igno- 
rance. But  such  a  relation  of  confidence  is  impossible 
until  grown  people  learn  to  treat  seriously  the  questions 
and  the  hesitating  confidences  of  children,  and  to  respect 
the  sincerity  of  their  thoughts  and  their  emotional  life. 
At  the  best,  grave  dangers  of  misinterpretation  beset  us. 
We  have  only  the  obscure  media  of  children's  confused 
words,  and  of  our  often  unsympathetic  hearing,  through 
which  to  read  their  thoughts.  To  meet  the  child's  bewil- 
dered expressions  with  indifference,  with  ridicule,  or  with 
reproof  is  to  drive  him  back  into  the  isolation  of  his  own 
experience. 


PART    II 

ABNORMAL   PSYCHOLOGY 
CHAPTER  XXVII 

ABNORMAL  CONSCIOUS   STATES   OF   PERSONS   IN   HEALTH 

Abnormal  Psychology,  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term, 
inckides  the  study  of  the  varying  forms  of  insanity,  as 
well  as  the  discussion  of  abnormal  phases  of  the  normal 
consciousness.  We  restrict  ourselves  to  the  latter  subject, 
considering  in  most  detail  the  phenomena  of  dreaming,  of 
visions  and  of  hypnotism. 

I.  PHENOMENA  OF  ABNORMAL  CONSCIOUSNESS 

(a)  Dreams 

There  is  an  obvious  advantage  in  beginning  here,  for  one 
may  directly  consider  one's  own  dreams,  instead  of  making 
inferences  from  the  words  and  actions  of  other  people. 
But  though  the  student  of  the  dream-consciousness  has 
the  advantage  of  studying  his  own  experience,  his  knowl- 
edge of  his  dreams  is  much  impaired  by  the  difficulty  and 
uncertainty  of  remembering  them.  The  dreams  of  the  early 
night  are  usually  forgotten,  and  those  which  we  recall  in 
the  morning  are  a  small  proportion  of  all  which  we  have 
dreamed.  A  curious  experience  of  the  writer  illustrates 
this  danger.  For  some  months  she  kept  a  careful  record 
of  all  dreams,  writing  them  down  from  memory  as  soon  as 
she  awoke.     In  this  way,  she  accustomed  herself  to  write 

397 


39^  Nat2ire  of  Dreaming 

legibly  even  in  the  dark.  One  night,  a  long  dream  was 
recorded  with  a  pencil  so  blunted  that  it  made  mere 
scratches  on  the  paper,  and  in  the  morning  the  disheart- 
ening discovery  was  made,  that  the  dream  had  been  com- 
pletely forgotten,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  dreamer  had 
waked  enough  to  write  it  down.  A  second  danger  is  the 
likelihood  of  supplementing  our  fragmentary  dream-memo- 
ries, by  images  which  did  not  actually  occur  in  the  dreams, 
but  which  we  unwittingly  supply  to  fill  the  gaps.  The 
main  requirements  of  dream  investigation  are,  therefore : 
first,  completeness  in  the  record  of  them,  so  that  one's 
study  may  be  based,  not  on  a  very  few  striking  dreams,  but 
on  a  larger  number  of  representative  dreams ;  and  second, 
the  habit  of  recording  dreams  as  soon  as  possible  after 
their  occurrence.  Dreams,  recorded  immediately  on  wak- 
ing from  them,  are  obviously  the  most  trustworthy  materials 
of  study.  The  statements  which  follow  are  based  upon 
the  writer's  records,  during  seven  successive  weeks,  of  her 
own  remembered  dreams,  and  on  several  other  records  of 
the  same  type. 

The  dream  is  most  simply  described  as  consciousness 
during  sleep.  Its  essential  features  are  the  sleeper's  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  bodily  state,  and  his  fallacious  conscious- 
ness of  the  perceptual  reality  of  dream-objects.  When,  for 
example,  I  dreamed  last  night  of  floating  about  in  a  gondola, 
I  was  obviously  unconscious  of  my  body,  which  lay  rela- 
tively motionless,  under  an  eider-down  quilt,  in  a  room  of 
forty  degrees  Fahrenheit ;  and  I  mistook  my  own  memory, 
of  a  summer  day  on  the  Grand  Canal,  for  an  experience 
actually  shared  with  other  people.  This  characteristic 
dream  illusion  is  very  readily  explained.  The  conditions 
of  sleep  make  it  impossible  to  compare  our  images  with 
other  people's  experience,  and  even  with  our  own  percepts. 
But  in  the  waking  consciousness  our  images  are  felt  to  be 
unreal,  precisely  because  we  do  compare  them  with  the 
more  stable,  and  often  more  vivid,  objects  of  perception; 
and  because  we  realize,  originally  by  communication,  that 


Stages  of  the  Drca^n  Illusion  399 

other  people  do  not  share  the  image  experience.  Without 
these  standards  of  comparison,  the  vivid  images  of  our 
hours  of  revery  would  certainly  seem  as  real  as  our  dream 
experiences.  I  imagine,  for  example,  the  ride  from  St. 
Malo  to  Dinan,  in  the  little  steamboat  on  the  river 
Ranee.  I  picture  vividly  the  serpentine  windings  of  the 
river,  the  ruined  chateaus  and  moss-grown  towers  of  the 
banks,  the  coiffed  peasant  women,  three  abreast,  harnessed 
to  a  boat  which  they  drag  along  and,  finally,  the  winding 
streets  and  ruined  walls  of  Dinan  itself,  built  high  upon  its 
hill.  But  I  realize,  throughout,  the  privacy  of  my  imagina- 
tion, because  it  so  sharply  contradicts  my  prosaic  outlook 
on  American  city  streets,  electric  cars  and  ten-storied 
buildings.  If,  however,  I  were  dreaming  of  Dinan,  my 
eyes  would  be  closed  to  my  surroundings,  and  there  would 
be  no  perceived  reality  opposing  my  dream  visions ;  the 
dream  experience,  accordingly,  would  be  undistinguished 
from  the  common  world  of  perception. 

There  are  at  least  three  stages  in  the  dream  illusion. 
The  first  has  been  already  described,  as  the  mere  absence 
of  any  feeling  of  the  privacy  or  unreality  of  the  dream  ex- 
perience. In  the  next  stage,  one  attributes  one's  own 
thoughts  and  feelings  to  other  individuals ;  for  example, 
one  dreams  of  forgetting  a  date  and  of  hearing  some  one 
else  give  it  correctly.  Here,  there  is  a  failure  of  definite 
recollection.  A  vivid  speech  image  is  followed  by  an 
equally  vivid  consciousness  of  some  person,  and  the  two 
are  then  closely  associated.  The  dream  illusion,  finally, 
may  reach  the  level  of  what  is  called  changed  or  doubled 
personality :  this  phenomenon  we  shall  later  discuss  in 
some  detail. 

The  contrasts  between  dream  and  waking  are  ordinarily 
so  strongly  emphasized,  that  it  is  even  more  important 
to  consider  their  essential  likenesses.  Just  as  we  have 
found  that  the  child  has  the  same  sorts  of  consciousness 
as  the  adult,  so  also  we  discover,  within  our  dreams,  every 


400  Sensational  Elements  in  Dreams 

type  of  conscious  material,  sensational,  attributive  and 
relational. 

In  the  experience,  so  far  as  it  is  known,  of  most 
dreamers,  visual  elements  predominate :  that  is  to  say, 
most  people  dream  of  how  things  look,  and  some,  indeed, 
describe  their  dreams  as  purely  visual  —  shifting  panto- 
mimes, as  it  were,  of  colored  figures  and  objects.  Many 
of  us,  however,  dream  also  of  sounds  and  of  dermal  sensa- 
tions ;  and  conversation,  which  involves  both  auditory  and 
tactile  elements,  plays  an  important  part  in  the  dreams 
of  many  persons.  People  dream  far  less  frequently  of 
tastes  and  of  odors,  so  that  dreams  of  banquets  break  off 
just  before  one  actually  begins  to  eat ;  and  we  often 
decide  that  what  we  at  first  remembered  as  a  dream  of 
tasting  or  of  smelling  was  merely  a  dream  of  the  '  look ' 
of  objects  which,  in  waking  life,  would  also  have  been 
tasted  and  smelt.  In  spite  of  their  rarity,  however,  there 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  that,  as  there  may  be  taste  and  smell 
images,  so  there  may  be  taste  and  smell  dreams.  The  most 
accurate  dream  records  confirm  this  view.^ 

The  relative  frequency  of  the  different  sorts  of  sense 
imagery,  in  the  dreams  of  four  observers,  is  shown  by  the 
following  table,  in  which  each  per  cent  shows  the  pro- 
portion of  dreams  in  which  one  class  of  sense-images 
occurred.^ 

Sense-images  in  Dreams 


Observers 

Visual 

Auditory 

Dermal 

Gustatory 

Olfactory 

S.   (133  dreams) 

85.0% 

57-1% 

5-3% 

•0% 

1-5% 

C.   (16s       - 

) 

77.0 

49.1 

8.5 

.0 

1.2 

W.   (141 

) 

loo.o 

90.0 

13-5 

12  0 

15.0 

H.  (150      " 

) 

727. 
83.2% 

54.6 
62.1% 

6.0 

2-7 

3-6% 

2.7 

Total,  589 

8.3% 

4-9% 

1  Cf.  E.  B.  Titchener,  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  507; 
G.  A.  Andrews,  ibid..  Vol.  XI.;    and  see  next  note. 

2  M.    \V.    Calkins,    American  Journal  of  Psychology,    Vol.    V.,    p.    321; 
S.  Weed  and  F.  Ilallani,  ibid..  Vol.  VII.,  p.  407. 


Unsensational  Elonciits  in  Dreams        401 

Though  there  are  dreams  which,  so  far  as  remembered, 
are  quite  unemotional,  affective  elements  are,  nevertheless, 
very  prominent  in  many  dreams.  There  is,  perhaps,  no 
point  in  which  the  individuality  of  the  dreamer  is  more 
manifest.  To  one  person,  dreams,  though  seldom  vividly 
disagreeable,  are  'apt  to  be  pervaded  by  a  generally  un- 
pleasant feeling,'  ^  but  another  dreamer  says,  "  I  look  for- 
ward with  delight  to  my  hours  of  sleep."  ^  Fear,  shame 
and  perplexity  are  frequent  forms  of  unpleasant  dream 
emotion ;  experiences  of  pleasure  are  harder  to  classify, 
yet  even  aesthetic  pleasure  occurs  in  one's  dreams,  though 
it  is  rare.  It  is  clearly  suggested  in  the  record  which 
follows :  ^  "  I  went  into  the  garden  and  there  were  all  the 
roses  beginning  to  open.  A  little  bluebell  rang  out,  and 
the  roses  began  slowly  to  unfold.  The  garden  was  a  per- 
fect bower  of  beauty  ;  every  rose  on  every  bush  was  opened, 
the  bluebells  were  all  ringing,  the  other  flowers  all  opened, 
the  birds  began  to  sing." 

Relational  experiences  are  no  less  prominent  in  our 
dreams.  To  begin  with,  every  constant  dreamer  admits 
the  occurrence  of  recognition  in  his  dreams.  Sometimes 
he  correctly  recognizes  events  which  have  really  happened 
in  the  waking  life,  but,  quite  as  often,  the  feeling  of  famili- 
arity attaches  to  imaged  events  which  have  never  actually 
occurred.  Explicit  thinking  and  reasoning  are  so  often 
reported  by  accurate  observers,  in  the  records  of  their 
dreams,  that  we  may  deny,  quite  dogmatically,  the  frequent 
assertion  that  dreams  are  characterized  by  entire  absence 
of  thought.  Dream  reasoning,  though  sometimes  accu- 
rate, is  often  incorrect,  and  it  often  is  based  on  very  absurd 
premises.  Dr.  Sanford,  for  example,  after  dexterously  fit- 
ting a  dream-baby  with  a  new  skull,'*  discovers  that  the 
baby  can  talk.  Dr.  Sanford,  in  his  dream,  ingeniously 
reasons  that  "  by  getting  an  older  skull  [the  baby]   came 

1  M.  W.  Calkins,  op.  cif.,  American  Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  V.,  p.  327. 

2  Iliid.,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  408.  *  Ibid.,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  325,  note. 

3  Ibid.,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  409. 

2D 


402     Will  and  Moral  Consciousness  in  Dreams 

into  .  .  .  the  size  and  attainments  of  the  previous  owner 
of  the  skull.  This,"  he  observes,  "  puts  the  active  and 
organizing  principle — the  soul — in  the  skull  instead  of 
the  brain." 

Will  and  moral  consciousness,  also,  in  spite  of  assertions 
to  the  contrary,  certainly  occur  occasionally  in  dreams. 
Both  are  found,  for  example,  in  a  dream  recorded  by  a 
college  student,  in  which  she  was  required  to  make  a  dis- 
section for  which  directions  were  written  in  Greek  :  "  I  was 
in  distress  because  my  instruments  would  not  work,  and  I 
had  forgotten  what  I  knew  of  the  Greek.  I  reasoned  with 
myself  about  the  honesty  of  having  some  one  translate  the 
directions.  After  much  thought  I  decided  that  I  would 
not  have  the  directions  translated,  because  the  work  was 
to  be  individual  .  .  .  and  this  would  be  deceiving."^ 

It  is  easy  to  describe  in  a  general  way  the  physiological 
correlates  of  dreaming.  All  dreams,  in  the  iirst  place,  are 
conditioned  by  the  excitation  of  brain-centres ;  and  many, 
perhaps  all,  dreams  are  conditioned  also  by  the  functioning 
of  some  sensational  end-organ.  When,  for  example,  one 
dreams  of  brilliant  autumn  woods,  and  wakes  to  find  the 
sun  shining  full  upon  one's  eyelids,  it  is  evident  that  the 
excitation  of  retina  and  optic  nerve  has  preceded  that  of 
the  visual  brain-centre.  Very  few  dreams,  it  is  true,  can 
be  traced  directly  to  the  external  stimulation,  and  it  is  pos- 
sible that  the  brain-centres  may  be  stimulated  directly 
through  changes  in  the  blood  supply ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  slight  sounds,  like  those  of  a  flapping  window  cur- 
tain, changes  in  the  pressure  of  one's  coverings  and  inter- 
nal bodily  changes  must  occur  frequently  during  sleep, 
and  may  form  the  starting-point  of  every  dream. 

{b)   Abnormal  Experiences  of  the  Waking  Life 

I.  Waking  Illusions  and  Hallucinations.  —  History  is  full 
of    accounts    of    illusions    and    hallucinations    of    waking 

1  S.  Weed  and  F.  Ilallam,  op.  cit..  Vol.  VII.,  p.  408. 


Illicsions  a)id  Hallucinations  403 

people.  The  daimon  of  Sokrates,  the  blazing  sword  of 
Savonarola,  the  devil  who  used  to  argue  with  Luther,  and 
the  Madonna  who  appeared  to  Raphael  are  illustrations 
which  at  once  suggest  themselves.  It  is  not  always  easy 
to  decide  from  the  descriptions  which  we  have  of  them, 
whether  these  visions  are  illusions,  that  is,  conditioned  in 
part  by  peripheral  excitation,  or  whether  they  are  halluci- 
nations, that  is,  conditioned  by  cerebral  excitation  only. 
Sometimes,  however,  the  distinction  is  obvious.  For 
example,  the  phantoms  which  haunted  Charles  IX.  after 
the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholemew  were  hallucinations,  but 
the  image  of  Byron  which  appeared  to  Sir  Walter  Scott 
was  a  mere  illusion,  for  the  clothes  of  the  figure  consisted, 
Sir  Walter  discovered,  of  the  folds  of  a  curtain. 

Far  more  important  as  materials  for  study  than  these 
vivid,  yet  often  confused  and  unverified,  stories  from  which 
we  have  quoted,  are  the  massed  results  of  an  International 
Census  on  Waking  Hallucinations,  made  by  the  Society  for 
Psychical  Research. ^  The  question  on  which  this  study 
is  based  is  the  following  :  "  Have  you  ever,  when  believing 
yourself  to  be  completely  awake,  had  a  vivid  impression  of 
seeing  or  being  touched  by  a  living  being  or  inanimate 
object,  or  of  hearing  a  voice;  which  impression,  so  far  as 
you  could  discover,  was  not  due  to  any  external  physical 
cause  }  "  To  this  question  27,329  answers  were  given,  and 
of  these  3271,  or  1 1.96  per  cent,  were  affirmative  :  in  other 
words,  one  out  of  every  twelve  of  the  persons,  reached  by 
the  investigation,  asserted  that  he  had  experienced  halluci- 
nations. This  percentage,  however,  is,  in  all  probability, 
too  high  to  be  representative,  for  the  larger  the  number  of 
answers  received  by  any  one  collector  of  these  statistics, 
the  smaller  was  the  number  of  affirmative  replies.  It  fol- 
lows that  if  the  investigation  were  further  extended,  the 
percentage  would  probably  fall  still  lower.^     Yet,  with  all 

1  Prcceedh!i:;s  of  the  Society  of  Psychical  Research,  Vol.  X.,  1894. 
-Edmund    Parish,    "Hallucinations    and    Illusions"     (Scribner,     1897), 
pp.   85   seq. 


404  Crystal  Vision 

allowances  for  overestimation,  the  fact  remains  that  wak- 
ing halhicinations  must  be  commoner  than  many  of  us 
think.  Visual  hallucinations  far  outnumber  the  others  : 
of  2232  cases  completely  described,  1441  included  visual 
elements,  850  were  partly  auditory,  and  only  244  were  tac- 
tile. Most  of  these  hallucinations  related  to  people,  hving 
or  dead,  but  a  few  represented  angels  or  supernatural  beings, 
and  a  sHghtly  larger  number  were  grotesque  or  horrible 
figures.  About  one-twentieth  of  them  were  indefinite  or 
indescribable.  Persons  between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and 
thirty  reported  more  than  one-half  the  number  of  these 
illusions  and  hallucinations,  and  men  reported  only  two- 
thirds  as  many  as  women,  9.75  per  cent  as  compared  with 
14.56  per  cent.  The  general  conclusion  of  the  Report  is 
"  that  this  apparent  difference  should,  to  a  great  extent,  be 
attributed  to  the  fact  that  men,  among  the  pressing  inter- 
ests and  occupations  of  their  lives,  forget  these  experiences 
sooner."  ^ 

Besides  the  involuntary  hallucinations  and  illusions, 
there  is  the  whole  class  of  illusions  which  are  voluntarily 
induced.  The  commonest  method  of  bringing  about  ilki- 
sions  is  known  as  crystal  vision :  the  experimenter  looks 
fixedly  at  a  glass  sphere,  at  a  mirror  surface  or  even  at  a 
glass  of  water,  until  there  appear  pictures  in  its  reflecting 
surface.  Crystal-gazing,  it  may  be  noticed,  is  an  ancient 
custom.  Oriental  people,  as  well  as  Greeks  and  Romans, 
are  known  to  have  practised  it  with  many  reflecting  objects, 
for  example,  with  metal  mirrors,  beryl  stones,  wells,  and 
liquids  held  in  the  palm  of  the  hand.  Crystal  vision  has 
even  been  observed  among  the  uncivilized  races  of  the 
South  Sea  Islands.  In  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
century  it  flourished  in  the  English  court  and  on  the 
continent.^  The  images  which  appear  within  these  differ- 
ent crystals  are  usually  reproductions  of  former  experiences, 
and  often  of  long-forgotten  objects  or  scenes.      One  sees, 

^  Cf.  Parish,  op.  cH.,  p.  84.  ^  Cf.  Parish,  op.  cit.,  pp.  63-66. 


Automatic   Writing  405 

for  instance,  a  forgotten  date,  or  a  garden  familiar  in  early- 
childhood.  The  images,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be  purely- 
imaginary,  as  when  Mrs.  Verral  sees  in  her  crystal  ^  colors 
so  vivid  that  they  leave  an  after-image  in  complementary 
colors.  The  images  seen  in  crystals  may  be,  finally,  veridi- 
cal images  of  actual  scenes  beyond  the  range  of  the  normal 
vision  of  the  crystal  seer.  Images  of  this  sort  we  shall 
later  discuss,  in  considering  the  general  subject  of  veridical 
phenomena  in  the  abnormal  consciousness. 

It  would  be  possible  to  include,  in  this  account  of  abnor- 
mal experiences  of  the  waking  life,  a  description  of  the 
chief  phenomena  of  synaesthesia,  including  so-called  colored 
hearing  and  mental  forms.  Most  of  these  experiences  are, 
however,  mere  instances  of  ordinary  imagination,  and  they 
are  not  therefore  considered  in  this  chapter.^ 

2.  Automatic  Wnti7ig. — One  abnormal  motor  experi- 
ence, relatively  common  in  the  waking  life,  must  be  very 
briefly  described.  It  is  known  as  automatic  writing,  and 
is  of  the  following  nature:^  the  subject,  provided  with  a 
pencil  and  so  placed  that  the  hand  which  holds  the  pencil 
is  hidden  from  his  eyes,  unconsciously  responds  to  stimu- 
lation of  the  hand.  If  the  hand  be  pressed  three  times,  it 
will  make  three  marks  when  these  pressures  are  over;  if 
the  hand  is  guided  and  made  to  draw  a  single  letter,  it 
may  go  on  to  complete  a  word.  Normal  persons  possess 
the  rudiments  of  automatic  writing,  passively  repeating 
uniform  movements  when  the  experimenter  has  initiated 
them,  following  the  rhythm  of  a  metronome  or  even  out- 
lining figures,  or  writing  names,  of  which  they  themselves 
are  thinking.  The  emphasized  feature  of  this  experience 
is  the  subject's  entire  unconsciousness  of  the  movements 
of  his  own  hands.  In  hysteria  and  in  hypnosis  the  phe- 
nomena of  automatic  writing  are  very  marked. 

1  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  Vol.  VIII.,  pp.  473  seq. 

2  Cf.  Bibliography. 

^  Cf.  A.  Binet,  "  Double  Consciousness,"  pp.  80  seq. 


4o6  Abnormal  Psychology 


{c)  Hyptwsis 

Hypnosis  differs  in  two  general  ways  from  the  forms  of 
the  abnormal  consciousness  already  discussed.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  brought  about  by  the  influence  of  some 
other  person  or  persons,  instead  of  being  explained  solely 
by  bodily  or  conscious  changes  in  the  hfe  of  the  individual. 
The  hypnotized  subject,  furthermore,  almost  always  for- 
gets, in  his  waking  state,  the  experience  of  the  hypnotic 
sleep.  It  follows  that  the  hypnotic  condition,  unlike  the 
dream  or  the  vision,  is  studied  chiefly  by  inference  from 
the  words  and  acts  of  hypnotized  subjects.  Hypnosis, 
therefore,  is  in  the  main  a  branch  of  comparative  psychol- 
ogy, whereas  the  study  of  dreams,  and  even  of  visions,  be- 
longs to  what  has  been  named  introspective  psychology.^ 
Hypnosis  has  been  defined  as  a  state  of  abnormal  suggesti- 
bility. It  may  be  described,  provisionally,  as  the  relatively 
complete  obedience  of  one  individual  to  the  suggestions  of 
another.  It  is  brought  about  in  many  ways ;  but  all  meth- 
ods unite  in  compelling  the  absorbed  attention  of  the 
subject,  or  person  to  be  hypnotized,  and  conversely  in 
drawing  his  attention  from  every  other  feature  of  his  sur- 
roundings. Often,  this  result  is  gained  by  requiring  the 
subject  to  look  fixedly  into  the  eyes  of  the  hypnotizer ; 
at  other  times,  the  subject  is  asked  to  regard  a  brilliant 
object  which  the  hypnotizer  holds ;  again,  the  attention  is 
gained  by  certain  rhythmic  movements  of  the  hypnotizer ; 
sometimes,  finally,  there  is  need  of  nothing  except  his 
spoken  exhortation.  In  all  these  cases  the  aim  is,  as 
has  been  said,  to  direct  the  full  attention  of  the  subject 
upon  the  hypnotizer,  and  to  divert  him  from  every  other 
interest. 

The  hypnotic  subject,  so  far  as  his  general  surroundings 
are  concerned,  is,  therefore,  like  a  sleeping  person.  He 
is  relatively  deaf  and  blind  to  what  goes  on  about  him, 

1  Cf.  p.  352. 


Hypnosis  407 

and,  indeed,  in  most  stages  of  liypnotism  he  is  outwardly 
like  a  sleeper,  for  his  eyes  are  closed  and  his  limbs  are  re- 
laxed. In  relation  to  the  hypnotizer,  on  the  contrary,  the 
subject  is  intensely  awake,  and  alive  to  every  direction 
or  suggestion.  An  illustration,  suggested  by  one  of  the 
writers  on  hypnotism,  may  make  this  clearer.  He  com- 
pares the  sleeping  state  to  a  chandelier  with  several 
burners  dimly  lighted  ;  the  waking  state  to  a  chandelier 
with  all  the  burners  turned  on ;  and  the  hypnotic  state 
to  a  chandelier  with  the  gas  turned  off  from  all  the 
burners  save  one,  but  issuing  at  full  pressure  from  that 
one. 

For  an  adequate  discussion  of  the  nature  and  conditions 
of  hypnosis,  the  student  must  at  once  be  referred  to  the 
books  which  treat  the  topic  in  detail.^  This  chapter  will 
attempt  an  outline,  only,  of  its  most  significant  phenomena. 
It  is  important  to  notice  that  there  are  many  degrees  of 
hypnosis,  in  other  words,  that  the  subject  follows  the  sug- 
gestions of  the  hypnotizer,  to  greatly  varying  extents.  In 
very  light  hypnosis,  for  example,  the  hypnotist  may  be 
able  only  to  prevent  certain  simple  movements ;  in  com- 
plete hypnosis,  as  we  shall  see,  the  hypnotist  may  influ- 
ence the  secretions  of  the  body  or  induce  complicated 
movements,  and  may  bring  about  positive  illusions,  or 
even  affect  the  thought  and  emotion  of  the  subject. 

It  is  not  easy  to  classify  the  stages  of  hypnosis,  for 
these  vary  greatly  with  different  subjects  and  with  differ- 
ent methods  of  hypnotization.  A  simple  and  compara- 
tively satisfactory  classification  is  suggested  by  Max 
Dessoir  and  adopted  by  Albert  Moll.'^  It  distinguishes 
two  important  stages  of  hypnosis.  In  the  first,  only  the 
voluntary  muscles  are  affected.  The  second  stage  is 
characterized  both  by  mental  disturbances,  and  by  bodily 
changes  due  to  contraction  of  involuntary  as  well  as 
voluntary  muscles.     Roughly  speaking,  no   more  than   a 

^  Cf.  Bibliography.  ^  "Hypnotism,"  p.  51. 


4o8  Bodily  Movements  in  Hypnosis 

third  of  the  whole  number  of  hypnoses  reach  this  second 
stage. 

The  nature  of  these  hypnotic  phenomena  will  now  be 
described  and  illustrated,  in  more  detail.  The  hypnotic 
influence  on  the  voluntary  muscles  must,  therefore,  be 
first  considered.  These  may  be  negatively  or  positively 
affected  :  the  subject,  after  the  hypnotic  state  has  been 
induced,  may  be  unable  to  open  his  eyes  or  to  raise  his 
hand,  if  the  hypnotizer  asserts  that  the  movement  is  im- 
possible;  or  again,  the  subject  extends  his  arm,  holds  it 
motionless  and  lets  it  drop  in  imitation  of  the  hypnotist's 
movement.  In  deep  hypnotic  states,  complete  rigidity  of 
the  body  may  be  induced  so  that  if  the  subject's  head 
be  placed  on  one  chair  and  his  feet  on  the  other,  his 
body  will  not  double  up  between  them.  Very  complicated 
acts  may  also  be  performed  :  for  instance,  the  subject  lifts 
objects  from  a  table  or  whirls  several  times  round. ^  The 
subject  may  even  imitate  the  delicate  movements  of  the 
vocal  organs.  Trilby's  musical  achievements,  for  example, 
were  due  to  Svengali's  hypnotic  influence ;  and,  years  ago, 
a  hypnotized  girl  imitated  the  singing  of  Jenny  Lind. 

The  deep  hypnosis  of  what  has  been  called  the  second 
stage  is  often  characterized  by  involuntary  muscle  contrac- 
tions, and  thus  by  disturbances  of  pulse,  secretion  and 
bodily  temperature.  Such  changes  are  readily  explained 
by  analogy  with  the  normal  life  of  emotion  and  atten- 
tion ;  for  there  is  no  doubt,  as  we  have  found,  that  circu- 
latory changes  accompany  emotional  states.  Certain  other 
bodily  phenomena  of  deep  hypnosis  are  harder  to  explain. 
These  are  the  structural  bodily  changes.  There  are,  for 
example,  well  authenticated  though  infrequent  cases,  in 
which  blisters  have  been  produced,  by  a  hypnotizer  who 
assured  his  subject  that  a  burning  object  would  be  ap- 
plied to  his  skin.  We  may  quote,  in  illustration,  from 
Kraft  Ebing's   account  of    his  well-known  patient,    lima 

1  Cf.  Moll,  op.  ciL,  p.  63. 


Hypjiotic  Illusions  409 

S ^:    "The  experimenter  draws  with  the  percussion 

hammer  a  cross  on  the  skin  over  the  biceps  of  the  left 
arm,  and  suggests  to  the  patient  that  on  the  following 
day  at  twelve  o'clock,  in  the  same  place,  a  red  cross  shall 
appear.  .  .  .  [On  the  next  day]  at  eleven  o'clock  .  .  . 
the  patient  wonders  that  she  has  an  itching,  excoriated 
spot  on  her  right  upper  arm.  .  .  .  The  examination  shows 
that  a  red  cross  is  to  be  seen  on  the  right  arm  exactly  at 
the  place  corresponding  with  that  marked  on  the  left  side 
yesterday."    Later  a  'sharply  defined  scab'  is  formed. 

We  must  turn  now  to  hypnotic  disturbances  of  con- 
sciousness ;  and,  first  among  them,  we  shall  consider  the 
sense  illusions  and  hallucinations,  classifying  them  as  pos- 
itive or  negative.  The  suggestion  of  the  hypnotizer  may 
induce  illusions  or  even  actual  hallucinations  of  every  sort. 
He  may  point  out  to  his  subject  certain  black  blotches  on 
a  white  background,  telling  him  that  they  are  birds,  and 
may  thus  call  up  to  his  subject's  mind  a  vivid  landscape. 
Or,  the  hypnotizer  may  hand  to  his  subject  a  cup  of  water 
or  even  of  ink,  telling  him  that  it  is  coffee.  The  subject 
drinks  it  eagerly,  complains,  perhaps,  that  it  is  warm,  and 
shows  by  the  expression  of  his  face  that  he  is  quite  uncon- 
scious of  its  real  nature.  Indeed,  the  alleged  coffee  may 
produce  actual  bodily  effects,  a  flushed  face,  for  example. 
For  the  same  reason,  the  hypnotic  subject  sneezes  when  told 
that  he  has  taken  snuff,  and  trembles  with  cold  when  told 
that  he  is  standing  on  ice.  His  eyes  water  as  he  eats  an 
apple  which  the  hypnotist  has  described  as  an  onion,  but 
he  sniffs  at  ammonia  with  impunity  if  he  is  told  that  it  is 
eau  de  cologne.  These,  of  course,  are  instances  of  illusion, 
brought  about  by  means  of  an  external  object.  Genuine 
hallucinations  can  also  be  induced  :  a  subject,  for  example, 
will  hear  the  sounds  of  a  piano  if  they  are  merely  sug- 
gested by  the  hypnotist. 

1  "  An  Experimental  Study  in  the  Domain  of  Hypnotism,"  by  R.  von  Krafft 
Ebing,  translated  by  C.  G.  Chaddock  (Putnam,  18S9),  pp.  57-60.  Cf.  pp. 
78,  96. 


4IO  Hypnotic  Illusions 

So  far,  we  have  spoken  of  fallacious  perceptions  of  a 
positive  sort.  The  negative  illusions  and  hallucinations  of 
the  hypnotized  subject  are  far  more  difficult  of  explana- 
tion. The  hypnotizer,  for  example,  indicates  some  person 
who  is  present  and  says  decidedly,  "  This  man  has  left  the 
room  :  he  is  no  longer  present."  Forthwith,  the  hypno- 
tized subject  utterly  disregards  the  banished  individual, 
failing  to  reply  to  his  questions  and  even  running  against 
him.  "Part  of  an  object,"  Moll  says,^  "can  be  made  invis- 
ible in  the  same  way.  We  can  cause  people  to  appear 
headless  and  armless,  or  make  them  disappear  altogether 
by  putting  on  a  particular  hat,  as  in  the  story  of  the  Magic 
Cap.  The  situation  may  be  varied  in  any  way  we  please." 
In  like  manner,  the  hypnotizer  may  suggest  to  his  subject 
that  he  is  unable  to  see  or  to  hear  or  to  feel  pain.  The 
pain-sensations  are,  however,  least  susceptible  to  sugges- 
tion, and  the  value  of  hypnotism  as  an  anaesthetic  has 
been  much  exaggerated.^ 

We  must  next  consider  the  phenomena  of  the  hypnotic 
memory.  In  the  lighter  hypnotic  states  there  are  no  ab- 
normalities of  memory,  but  two  characteristics  of  the 
memory  of  deeper  hypnosis  should  be  emjDhasized.  The 
hypnotized  subject  is  able  to  remember  both  the  events  of 
former  hypnoses  and  those  of  his  normal  experience  ;  on 
the  other  hand,  he  seldom  remembers,  in  his  normal  state, 
the  events  of  the  hypnotic  state.  The  books  on  hyp- 
notism are  full  of  illustrations  of  all  these  phenomena. 
Cases  are  reported  in  which  hypnotized  subjects  remember 
the  events  of  hypnoses  ten  and  thirteen  years  earlier,  even 
when  the  same  occurrences  are  utterly  forgotten  in  the 
normal  state.  The  intensification  of  memories  of  the 
waking  life  is  shown  by  the  tendency  of  hypnotized  sub- 
jects to  talk  in  the  forgotten  language  of  earlier  years. 
A  well-known  illustration  is  the  story  of  a  hypnotized 
English  officer,  who  surprised  the  bystanders  by  speaking 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  97.  2  Moll,  op.  cit.,  pp.  99  and  330. 


Hypnotic  Memory  411 

in  a  strange  language.  This  unknown  tongue  proved  to 
be  Welsh,  which  the  Englishman  had  learned,  as  a  child, 
but  had  forgotten.  The  ability  to  remember,  in  the  nor- 
mal state,  events  of  the  deeper  hypnosis  varies  greatly  in 
individuals.  Efforts  to  recall  these  events  to  the  subject's 
mind  are  often  successful,  and  yet,  as  a  general  rule,  such 
events  of  hypnosis  are  forgotten. 

The  most  puzzling  of  hypnotic  experiences  is  closely 
connected  with  the  facts  of  memory.  It  is  known  as  post- 
hypnotic suggestion,  and  may  be  described  as  the  tendency 
of  hypnotic  subjects  to  follow,  even  in  their  waking  lives, 
the  suggestions  of  the  hypnotist.  We  must  consider  this 
tendency  in  more  detail.  The  hypnotist,  for  example,  be- 
fore waking  his  subject  addresses  him  in  some  such  fashion 
as  the  following:  "To-morrow,  at  twelve  o'clock,  you  will 
move  the  Lucca  della  Robia  madonna  from  its  present  po- 
sition over  the  chimney-piece  to  the  empty  space  between 
the  two  windows."  At  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following 
day,  the  subject,  apparently  in  his  normal  condition,  actu- 
ally makes  the  suggested  change,  without  remembering 
the  suggestion  of  the  hypnotist.  The  readily  hypnotized 
subject  may,  in  this  way,  be  influenced  to  perform  simple 
and  complicated  acts,  and  also  to  experience  sense-illusions. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  main  value,  as  well  as  the  chief 
danger,  of  hypnotism  lies  in  just  this  susceptibility  of  the 
hypnotic  subject  to  post-hypnotic  suggestion.  Physicians 
who  make  use  of  hypnotism  suggest  to  the  patient  that  he 
is  freed  from  disturbing  symptoms,  and  that  he  will  remain 
freed  from  them  after  waking.  The  practice  is  based  on 
the  admitted  truth  that  "a  number  of  diseases  can  be  cured 
or  relieved  merely  by  making  the  patient  believe  that  he 
will  soon  be  better,  and  by  firmly  implanting  this  convic- 
tion in  his  mind."  ^  To  this  end,  post-hypnotic  suggestion 
has  been  employed,  with  distinct  success,  for  more  than 
thirty  years  by  Liebault  and  Bernheim  at   Nancy ;    and 

1  Moll,  op.  cit.,  p.  291. 


412  Hypnosis 

hundreds  of  doctors,  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  have  employed 
like  methods.  Indeed,  the  dependent  attitude  of  patient  to 
physician  in  itself  predisposes  the  patient  to  fill  the  condi- 
tions of  the  hypnotized  subject.  It  is  not,  therefore,  sur- 
prising to  discover  that  celebrated  physicians  of  antiquity 
induced  what  would  now  be  called  hypnotic  states,  for  ex- 
ample, the  temple  sleep  which  characterized  both  Greek 
and  Egyptian  cures.  Not  merely  nervous  diseases,  so- 
called,  but  all  diseases  and  symptoms  which  have  no  ana- 
tomical cause  have  been  successfully  treated  by  hypnotism, 
for  example,  rheumatic  and  neuralgic  pain,  loss  of  appe- 
tite, certain  disorders  of  sight,  stammering,  chorea  and 
writer's  cramp  (of  central  origin).  The  success  of  the 
treatment  is  dependent  on  the  extent  of  the  hypnosis  and 
on  the  susceptibility  of  the  subject.  It  also  depends,  of 
course,  on  the  patience,  skill  and  experience  of  the  physi- 
cian.^ The  objections  urged  against  the  therapeutic  use  of 
hypnotism  are,  first,  the  fact  that  the  patient  submits  him- 
self to  the  relatively  complete  control  of  another  person  ; 
and  second,  the  fact  that  the  patient  grows  in  susceptibility, 
so  that  he  is  more  readily  hypnotized  with  every  treat- 
ment. 

In  unscrupulous  hands,  the  ability  to  give  post-hypnotic 
suggestions  may,  of  course,  be  grossly  abused.  There  are 
reasonably  well-attested  instances  of  crimes  committed  and 
of  large  sums  of  money  given  away,  in  accordance  with 
post-hypnotic  suggestion.  In  such  cases,  the  discovery 
of  the  guilty  hypnotist  is  made  difficult  by  the  fact,  already 
indicated,  that  the  hypnotized  subject  so  seldom  remembers 
the  events  of  the  hypnotic  state.  The  best  authorities,  how- 
ever, agree  in  the  conclusion  that  only  individuals  predis- 
posed to  criminal  acts  can  be  influenced  to  actual  crime. 
"  It  is  very  difficult,"  Moll  says,  "to  suggest  anything  that 
is  opposed  to  the  confirmed  habits  of  the  subject.  .  .  .  The 
more  an  action  is  repulsive  to  his  disposition  the  stronger 

1  Cf.  Moll,  op.  ciL,  Chapter  VIII. 


Likeness  of  Abnormal  to  Normal         413 

is  his  resistance."  On  the  other  hand,  a  depraved  subject 
may  soUcit  criminal  suggestions.  The  surest  means  of 
avoiding  the  danger  of  crimes,  hypnotically  suggested,  is 
the  legal  restriction  of  the  use  of  hypnotism  to  competent 
physicians  and  scientists.  Some  such  limitation  of  the 
right  to  hypnotize  is  warmly  recommended  by  the  conti- 
nental writers,  Liegeois,  Delacroix  and  others.^ 

In  conclusion,  we  must  briefly  outline  an  entirely  differ- 
ent theory  of  the  nature  of  hypnosis.  This  is  the  doctrine, 
most  ably  championed  by  the  French  physician,  Charcot, 
that  hypnosis  is  a  pathological  state,  in  other  words,  a 
nerve  disease.  Charcot  distinguishes  two  main  forms,  Ic 
petit  and  le  grand  hypnotisi/ic,  and  claims  that  the  latter 
has  three  well-marked  stages,  cataleptic,  lethargic,  and 
somnambulic,  each  capable  of  excitation  through  physical 
stimulation,  without  suggestion.  The  suggestibility  of  the 
hypnotic  subject  is,  on  his  view,  merely  a  symptom  of  the 
disease.  It  is  fair  to  say,  however,  that  the  theory  of  Char- 
cot has  been  completely  set  aside  by  the  observations  of 
Liebault  and  Bernheim,  in  Nancy,  and  by  the  conclusions 
of  most  modern  students  of  hypnotism. 

ir.  ANALOGY  OF  ABNORMAL  STATES  TO  THE  NORMAL 

EXPERIENCE 

Though  we  have  more  than  once  considered  the  likeness 
of  abnormal  to  normal  consciousness,  it  is  well  now  to  sum- 
marize the  resemblances  and  to  emphasize  them.  It  has 
been  shown  already  that  the  dream-experience  includes  all 
the  elements  of  the  waking  consciousness,  and  that  the 
dream  illusion,  as  a  whole,  closely  resembles  the  absorbed 
revery  in  which  we  do  not  reflect  on  the  privacy  and  unreal- 
ity of  our  images.  These  statements  apply  equally  to  wak- 
ing illusions  and  hallucinations.  We  have  seen  already 
that  the  percept  is  usually,  though   not  invariably,  more 

1  Cf.  Moll,  op.  cit..  Chapter  VII L 


414  Likeness  of  Abnormal  to  Normal 

intense  than  the  image,  and  that  the  only  constant  distinc- 
tion is  the  privacy  of  imagination,  as  contrasted  with  the 
community  of  experience  in  perception.  Illusion  and  hal- 
lucination are  abnormally  vivid  sense-experiences,  which 
we  incorrectly  suppose  that  we  share  with  other  people. 
From  this  analysis,  it  is  clear  that  crystal-gazing  induces 
illusions,  simply  because  it  tends  to  divert  attention  from 
one's  surroundings,  and  to  concentrate  it  on  an  object  rel- 
atively empty  of  interest.  One  is  thus  absorbed  in  one's 
images,  and  one  ceases  to  compare  them  with  perceptual 
reality ;  they  therefore  gain  a  fallacious  air  of  being  com- 
mon, instead  of  individual,  experiences.  The  phenomena, 
finally,  of  somnambulism  and  of  automatic  writing  seem  to 
be  instances  of  ideo-motor  or  of  reflex  action. 

The  essential  point  of  likeness,  between  the  waking  con- 
sciousness and  hypnosis,  is  the  individual's  susceptibility, 
in  both  the  normal  and  the  abnormal  state,  to  the  influ- 
ence of  another  j^erson.  It  is  idle  to  deny  this  relation. 
The  most  independent  of  mortals  shapes  his  actions  and 
judgments,  in  one  particular  or  another,  in  accordance  with 
the  ideas  of  somebody  else.  The  picture  in  which  he  de- 
lighted becomes  a  crude  daub  of  color,  if  this  influential 
critic  pronounces  against  it ;  the  theory  which  he  scouted 
gains  dignity  and  impressiveness,  at  a  word  of  approval 
from  his  mentor.  Dull  tasks  are  undertaken,  favorite  pas- 
times are  given  over,  action  and  theory  alike  are  remodelled, 
at  the  suggestion  of  some  one  whose  opinion  is  valued. 
Now  this  everyday  truth  that  an  individual  does  pro- 
foundly influence  the  life  of  thought  and  action  of  other 
men  is  the  basal  principle  of  hypnosis. 

Coordinate  with  this  resemblance  of  hypnotic  state  to 
waking  life  is  the  likeness  of  hypnosis  to  the  dream  life, 
in  that  it  excludes  the  percepts  and  images  which  oppose 
those  of  the  hypnotist.  This  analogy  of  hypnosis  to  the 
dream  is  of  real  significance.  The  hypnotic  illusion, 
though  differently  excited,  is,  in  principle,  like  the  dream 
illusion  —  a  vivid  idea  uncompared  with  perceptual  real- 


Changes  in  Personality  415 

ity.  The  movements  of  the  hypnotized  subject,  in  response 
to  suggestion,  resemble,  in  like  manner,  the  movements  of 
somnambulism,  which  is  simply  the  acting  out  of  dream 
images. 

III.     DIFFERENCES    OF    ABNORMAL    AND    NORMAL    STATES 

We  have  no  right  to  obscure  the  peculiarities  of  these 
abnormal  states,  by  insisting  only  on  their  likeness  to  the 
waking  consciousness.  The  remainder  of  this  chapter  is 
devoted,  therefore,  to  a  brief  consideration  of  the  two  par- 
ticulars, in  which  these  forms  of  abnormal  consciousness 
most  widely  diverge  from  the  waking  experience. 

{a)    Changes  in  Personality 

Both  dreams  and  hypnotic  states  may  be  characterized 
by  what  is  known  as  a  change  or  a  doubling  of  personality  ; 
for  example,  one  may  dream  of  being  a  little  child  or  of 
attending  one's  own  funeral.  In  the  writer's  own  experi- 
ence, such  dreams  involve  no  loss  of  the  consciousness  of 
self,  but  rather  a  vivid  imagination  and  a  failing  memory. 
The  dreamer  forgets  the  events  of  his  past  experience  and 
even  his  own  appearance,  and  adopts  another  environment 
as  his  own ;  yet  all  the  time  he  is  conscious  of  the  old  self 
as  the  centre  of  these  new  experiences.  Occasionally, 
however,  a  real  change  of  personality  appears  to  occur. 
For  example,  a  careful  observer  of  dreams,  Miss  Weed, 
recalls  the  following  dream. ^  "  I  seem  to  be  an  old  min- 
ister, lean,  tall,  with  long,  thin,  white  hair.  My  coat  is  a 
long  Prince  Albert,  worn  at  the  elbow  ;  my  tie  is  black.  I 
reahze  that  I  am  soon  to  die.  I  review  my  whole  career 
as  a  pastor,  call  to  mind  several  people  and  some  of  the 
details  of  the  work.  I  think  of  some  of  the  sermons  I 
have  preached,  and  feel  a  strong  sense  of  my  shortcom- 

'  "A  Study  of  the  Dream  Coxisc\o\xsne?,%,^''  American  Journal  of  Psvc/iology, 
Vol.  VII.,  p.  411. 


4i6      Difference  of  Abnormal  from  Normal 

ings."  The  writer  adds :  "  In  this  entire  dream  I  do  not 
view  the  personahty  which  I  have  assumed  as  one  apart, 
but  as  one  from  within.  I  do  not  see  the  long,  gray  hair  and 
the  black  tie,  but  imagine  them  as  one  imagines  any  bodily 
characteristic  or  any  article  of  dress  not  in  direct  vision." 

The  hypnotic  state  offers  many  examples  of  changed  per- 
sonality, so  far  at  least  as  this  can  be  externally  observed. 
The  deeply  hypnotized  subject,  if  told  that  he  is  Napoleon, 
is  likely  to  adopt  a  military  stride  and  to  develop  pugna- 
cious tendencies.      Kraft    Ebing's   subject,    lima   S , 

when  it  was  suggested  to  her  that  she  was  eight  years  old, 
played  contentedly  for  hours  at  a  time  with  a  doll,  wrote 
an  unformed  hand,  and  made  childish  errors  in  spelling 
words  which  she  normally  spelled  correctly. 

Even  more  surprising  is  the  discovery  or  the  creation, 
through  hypnotic  methods,  of  regular  alternations  of  per- 
sonality. One  of  the  best-known  of  these  cases  is  that  of 
Janet's  patient  Leonie.  We  quote  a  translation,  by  James, 
of  Janet's  account  of  this  subject:  "This  woman,  whose 
life  sounds  more  like  an  improbable  romance  than  a  genu- 
ine history,  has  had  attacks  of  natural  somnambulism  since 
the  age  of  three  years.  She  has  been  hypnotized  constantly 
by  all  sorts  of  persons  from  the  age  of  sixteen  upwards,  and 
she  is  now  forty-five.  Whilst  her  normal  life  developed  in 
one  way  in  the  midst  of  her  poor  country  surroundings, 
her  second  life  was  passed  in  drawing-rooms  and  doctors' 
offices,  and  naturally  took  an  entirely  different  direction. 
To-day,  when  in  her  normal  state,  this  poor  peasant  woman 
is  a  serious  and  rather  sad  person,  calm  and  slow,  very  mild 
with  every  one,  and  extremely  timid  :  to  look  at  her  one 
would  never  suspect  the  personage  which  she  contains. 
But  hardly  is  she  put  to  sleep  hypnotically  when  a  meta- 
morphosis occurs.  Her  face  is  no  longer  the  same.  She 
keeps  her  eyes  closed,  it  is  true,  but  the  acuteness  of  her 
other  senses  supplies  their  place.  She  is  gay,  noisy,  rest- 
less, sometimes  insupportably  so.  She  remains  good- 
natured,  but   has  acquired  a  singular   tendency  to   irony 


Changes  in  Personality  417 

and  sharp  jesting.  Nothing  is  more  curious  than  to  hear 
her  after  a  sitting  when  she  has  received  a  visit  from 
strangers  who  wished  to  see  her  asleep.  She  gives  a  word- 
portrait  of  them,  apes  their  manners,  pretends  to  know 
their  httle  ridiculous  aspects  and  passions,  and  for  each 
invents  a  romance.  To  this  character  must  be  added  the 
possession  of  an  enormous  number  of  recollections,  whose 
existence  she  does  not  even  suspect  when  awake,  for  her 
amnesia  is  then  complete.  .  .  .  She  refuses  the  name  of 
Leonie  and  takes  that  of  Leontine  (Leonie  2)  to  which  her 
first  magnetizers  had  accustomed  her.  'That  good  woman 
is  not  myself,'  she  says,  '  she  is  too  stupid  !  '  To  herself, 
Leontine  or  Leonie  2,  she  attributes  all  the  sensations  and 
all  the  actions,  in  a  word  all  the  conscious  experiences 
which  she  has  undergone  in  somnambulism,  and  knits 
them  together  to  make  the  history  of  her  already  long  life. 
To  Leonie  i  [as  M.  Janet  calls  the  waking  woman]  on  the 
other  hand,  she  exclusively  ascribes  the  events  lived  through 
in  waking  hours.  But  it  is  the  same  with  her  second  or 
deepest  state  of  trance.  When  after  the  renewed  passes, 
syncope,  etc.,  she  reaches  the  condition  which  I  have 
called  Leonie  3,  she  is  another  person  still.  Serious  and 
grave,  instead  of  being  a  restless  child,  she  speaks  slowly 
and  moves  but  little.  Again  she  separates  herself  from 
the  waking  Leonie  i.  'A  good  but  rather  stupid  woman,' 
she  says,  'and  not  me.'  And  she  also  separates  herself 
from  Leonie  2  :  '  How  can  you  see  anything  of  me  in  that 
crazy  creature  } '  she  says.  '  Fortunately  I  am  nothing  for 
her.'  " 

Other  well-attested  instances  of  changed  personality  are 
reported,  and  several  of  these  occur  naturally,  or  as  result 
of  illness,  but  without  hypnotization.  The  chapter  of 
the  James  Psychology,  which  has  already  been  quoted,^ 
contains  accounts  of  many  of  these  cases. 

1  op.  cit..  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  X.,  "The  Consciousness  of  Self." 

2E 


41 8  Changes  in  Personality 

It  would  be  idle  to  pretend  that  such  experiences  have 
been  satisfactorily  explained,  but  an  adequate  discussion, 
of  the  theories  which  have  been  advanced,  would  involve 
us  in  a  metaphysical  consideration  of  personality.  We 
shall  merely,  therefore,  consider  two  theoretical  tendencies. 
The  first  is  that  of  very  many  writers  on  abnormal  psy- 
chology. It  supposes  that  each  personality  includes,  be- 
sides the  everyday  self  of  the  normal  consciousness  (the 
supraliminal  self,  as  Mr.  Myers  calls  it),^  one  or  more 
split-off  and  relatively  distinct  selves  (subliminal  selves), 
the  selves  of  the  dream  life,  the  vision  and  the  hypnotic 
state.  The  everyday  self  is,  on  this  theory,  usually  un- 
conscious of  the  subliminal  experiences,  but  occasionally 
takes  notice  of  them,  for  example,  when  it  remembers 
visions  or  dreams.  On  the  other  hand,  the  subliminal 
self  (whether  dream-self,  hypnotized  self,  or  unexplained 
second  self)  ordinarily  remembers  the  experience  of  the 
everyday  self. 

On  this  theory,  it  should  be  noticed,  even  people  who 
have  never  observed,  in  their  own  experience,  any  altera- 
tions of  personality  are  regarded  as  none  the  less  made  up 
of  supraliminal  and  subliminal  selves.  In  other  words,  the 
normal  is  explained  on  the  analogy  of  the  abnormal  con- 
sciousness. The  argument,  on  which  the  theory  is  based, 
may  be  named  an  argument  from  continuity,  and  runs 
somewhat  as  follows :  Some  dreams  and  visions  and 
hypnoses  involve  changes  of  personality,  and  must  be 
explained  by  the  hypothesis  of  a  complex  personality, 
made  up  of  supraliminal  and  subliminal  selves ;  moreover, 
all  abnormal  experiences  may  be  accounted  for  in  the  same 
way,  and  since  one  hypothesis  may  serve  for  all  the  phe- 
nomena, it  is  reasonable  to  make  use  of  it. 

Opposed  to  this  hypothesis  of  the  subliminal  self  or 
selves,  is  a  radically  different  theoretical  tendency,  which 

i"The  Subliminal  Self,"  by  F.  W.  li.  Myers,  Proceedings  of  the  Society 
of  Psychical  Research,  Vol.  VII  ,  ji.  29S,  ct  al. 


The  Subliminal  Self  Theory  419 

the  writer  of  this  book  regards  as  a  safer  one.  This  is 
the  effort  to  account  for  the  abnormal  consciousness  in 
terms  of  the  normal.  From  this  point  of  view,  we  may 
take  exception  to  each  step  of  the  argument  which  has  just 
been  outlined.  We  may  urge  that  one  has  closest  knowl- 
edge of  the  everyday,  conscious  life,  and  that,  therefore, 
every  abnormal  phenomenon,  which  is  readily  accounted 
for  iDy  analogy  with  the  normal  consciousness,  should  not 
be  explained  in  any  remoter  way.  In  accordance  with 
this  general  principle,  we  lay  stress  on  the  close  resem- 
blance of  most  phenomena  of  dreaming,  visions,  automatic 
writing  and  hypnosis,  to  the  different  phases  of  our  ordi- 
nary waking  consciousness.  Even  so-called  changes  of 
personality,  as  observations  of  our  dreams  have  shown 
us,  are  often  merely  unusual  changes  in  the  imagined 
environment  of  the  old  self.  It  follows  that  the  sublimi- 
nal self  theory,  even  if  it  be  required  for  explanation  of 
genuine  changes  of  personality,  should  not  be  invoked  to 
account  for  simple  dreams,  for  crystal  visions,  or  for  light 
hypnoses. 

But  we  may  object  also  to  the  initial  affirmation  of  our 
opponents.  In  other  words,  we  may  deny  that  changes  of 
personality  can  be  explained  only  on  the  subliminal  self 
theory.  We  readily  admit  that  these  phenomena  are  not 
explained  by  analogy  with  the  normal  consciousness ;  Leo- 
nie  2's  forgetfulness  of  the  first  Leonie's  husband,  the 
transformation  of  Mary  Reynolds  from  morose  to  gay,^ 
and  the  change  of  Ansel  Bourne,  the  farmer,  into  Brown, 
the  candy  dealer,  certainly  are  not  paralleled  in  ordinary 
experiences. 

We  must,  therefore,  either  be  content  to  leave  these 
cases  unexplained,  or  we  must  advance  some  additional 
hypothesis.  The  theory,  already  outlined,  of  distinct  selves 
which  are  yet  one  personality,  involves,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  writer,  both  a  logical  and  a  psychological  contradic- 

^  Cf.  James,  loc.  cit. 


4^0  Veridical  Experiences 

tion.  A  logically  valid,  though  purely  hypothetical,  theory 
might  hold  that  these  alternating  selves  are  distinct  selves, 
connected  with  a  single  body.  This,  however,  is  a  mere 
suggestion,  not  a  formulated  hypothesis.  The  records  of 
changed  personality  are  indeed  so  few,  often  so  ill  estab- 
lished and  so  indirectly  observed,  that  they  can  hardly 
serve  as  basis  for  any  satisfactory  theory.  It  is  safest  for 
the  student,  in  all  doubtful  cases,  to  assume  that  the  abnor- 
mal self  is  '  changed,'  rather  than  '  multiplied,'  and  to  be- 
lieve that  the  explanation  of  the  change  must  be  sought 
among  conditions,  psychical  or  physiological,  resembling 
those  of  the  normal  experience. 

{b)    Veridical  Experiences :   Telepathy 

We  shall  briefly  discuss,  in  conclusion,  the  psychic  phe- 
nomena which  are  known  as  veridical,  so-called  prophetic 
dreams,  and  telepathic  or  clairvoyant  visions.  These  ex- 
periences are  alike,  in  that  they  are  supposed  to  correspond 
with  events,  which  could  not  be  known  by  ordinary  means. 
It  should  be  noticed,  first  of  all,  that  people  are  very  read- 
ily mistaken  in  the  veridical  character  of  their  experiences. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  the  false  impression,  after 
an  important  event,  that  one  has  previously  experienced 
it.  Just  as  places  seem  familiar  to  us,  when  we  have 
never  seen  them  before,  so  we  meet  events,  especially 
overwhelming  ones,  with  a  curious  sense  of  having  always 
known  or  expected  them.  Often,  also,  there  is  some 
slight  basis  for  the  impression  of  familiarity.  We  may 
indeed  have  had  dream  or  image  or  illusion  resembling  the 
actual  occurrence,  and,  as  we  have  seen  already,  we  often 
unconsciously  supply  the  details  of  a  fragmentary  dream. 
There  is  little  reason  to  doubt,  that  most  prophetic  dreams 
and  visions  are  of  this  deceptive  sort.  Dreams  and  visions 
should  never,  therefore,  be  reckoned  as  veridical,  unless 
they  are  recorded  and  communicated  to  other  people,  be- 
fore  the   dreamer  hears  of  the  actual  occurrence.     Sim- 


Telepathy  ji^ii 

ilar  tests  should  be  applied  to  veridical  illusions  and 
hallucinations. 

If  now  we  limit  our  attention  to  veridical  experiences, 
rigidly  scrutinized,  we  shall  doubtless  find  a  number  of 
well-attested  instances.  We  are  therefore  concerned  to 
suggest  the  explanation  of  them.  It  is  evident,  in  the  first 
place,  that  veridical  phenomena  may  precede  the  events 
to  which  they  refer,  quite  naturally,  without  the  slightest 
connection  between  the  vision  and  the  event.  For  ex- 
ample, a  dream  of  an  absent  friend  may  be  due  to  the  fact 
that  one  has  recently  re-read  his  letters,  instead  of  being 
in  any  sense  related  to  the  fact  that  he  is  actually  on  his 
way  home. 

It  is,  however,  believed,  by  many  careful  students  of 
veridical  dreams  and  illusions,  that  there  are  far  too  many 
of  them  to  be  explained  by  mere  chance  coincidence.  The 
most  important  alternative  theory  is  that  of  telepathy. 
This  is  the  doctrine,  that  individuals  influence  each  other, 
by  other  than  the  normal  means  of  language  and  bodily 
expression.  Such  a  theory  is  perhaps  more  common  than 
we  realize.  Most  of  us  have  observed  the  tendency,  of 
people  who  know  each  other  well,  to  make  the  same  re- 
mark at  the  same  instant,  or  to  respond,  as  we  say,  to 
unspoken  questions.  We  are  apt  to  account  uncritically 
for  such  experiences,  by  supposing  a  pecuhar  nearness  of 
the  two  people  and  an  especial  unity  of  experience.  This 
is  essentially  what  is  meant  by  telepathy.  The  technical 
argument  for  it  is  based,  in  part,  on  the  occurrence  of 
veridical  phenomena,  coinciding  in  time  with  the  event  to 
which  they  refer.  One  may  quote,  in  illustration,  the 
authenticated  story  ^  of  Captain  Colt,  an  officer  of  the 
British  army,  who  had  a  vision  on  the  eighth  of  Septem- 
ber, 1855,  of  the  kneehng  image  of  his  brother,  a  soldier 
who  was  then  before  Sebastopol.  The  figure  had  a 
wound  on  the  right  temple.     Captain  Colt  described  the 

1  "  Phantasms  of  the  Living,"  Vol.  I.,  p.  556. 


42  2  Telepathy 

vision  to  the  members  of  his  household,  and  both  his  ac- 
counts of  it  and  his  statement  of  the  date  are  substantially 
corroborated  by  his  sister.  A  fortnight  later,  he  had  news 
of  his  brother's  death  on  the  eighth  of  September.  His 
brother's  body  had  been  found  "  in  a  sort  of  kneeling  pos- 
ture .  .  .  propped  up  by  other  bodies,  and  the  death 
wound  was  where  it  had  appeared  in  the  vision." 

The  argument  for  the  existence  of  telepathy  is  strength- 
ened by  the  records  of  experimental  observations.  The 
original  form  of  these  experiments  was  practically  what 
used  to  be  known  as  the  '  willing-game ' :  the  experi- 
menter, by  directing  his  attention  to  some  object  in  the 
room,  successfully  'willed'  the  subject  to  lay  hold  of  it. 
It  is  easy  to  see,  however,  that  in  this  procedure,  the  ex- 
perimenter not  only  wills  the  subject's  movements,  but 
actually  directs  them  by  slight,  unintended  movements  of 
his  own,  in  the  desired  direction.  The  more  careful  ex- 
periments in  telepathy  consist,  therefore,  in  the  reproduc- 
tion by  one  person,  of  pictures  drawn  or  of  objects  fixedly 
regarded  by  another,  when  the  two  people  are  not  in  con- 
tact with  each  other,  and  when  they  have  had  no  opportu- 
nity of  communication,  direct  or  indirect.  Critics  of  these 
experiments  allege  that  the  subject's  imitations  are  not 
really  similar  to  the  objects  drawn  or  regarded,  by  the  ex- 
perimenter, but  that  the  observers  deceive  themselves  by 
fancying  resemblances  which  do  not  exist.  Two  of  these 
critics,  Lehmann  and  Hansen,  have  also  proved  the  exist- 
ence of  '  involuntary  whispering,'  without  movement  of 
the  lips,  and  have  shown  that,  in  some  telepathic  experi- 
ments, the  subject's  imitation  of  the  agent  may  have 
been  occasioned  in  this  normal  way,  and  not  by  tele- 
pathic influence. 

It  is  therefore  necessary  to  compare  the  Hkelihood  of 
telepathic  influence  with  the  possibilities  of  chance  coinci- 
dence and  of  unintended  communication.  Where  the  ex- 
perts disagree  so  widely,  the  laymen  may  well  withhold 


Telepathy  423 

their  decision.  They  may,  however,  avoid  consistently  two 
unscientific  extremes  of  thought :  on  the  one  hand,  the  un- 
critical acceptance  of  every  tale  of  abnormal  experience 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  flat  refusal  to  believe  any 
story,  however  well  authenticated,  which  contradicts  the 
usual  experience  of  every  day. 


CONCLUSION 

CHAPTER   XXVIII 
THE   HISTORY   OF   PSYCHOLOGICAL  SYSTEMS 

The  history  of  a  science  is  the  account  of  men's  system- 
atic observation  and  thought  on  a  given  subject.  It  is 
evident  that  no  one  can  profitably  study  other  men's  re- 
sults except  by  comparing  them  with  results  of  his  own 
observation  and  reflection.  For  this  reason,  the  study  of 
the  history  of  a  science  never  can  replace,  or  precede,  the 
study  of  the  science  itself.  When,  however,  one  has  made 
one's  own  examination  of  the  facts,  and  one's  own  reflec- 
tions and  deductions,  usually  under  the  guidance  and  direc- 
tion of  some  one  teacher  and  of  some  particular  text-book, 
it  is  well  to  compare  the  familiar  methods  and  results  with 
the  methods  and  results  of  other  people.  Besides  serving 
as  basis  for  the  estimation  of  one's  own  theories,  the  study 
of  the  history  of  a  science  may,  furthermore,  furnish  posi- 
tive suggestion  and  may  definitely  invigorate  individual 
study. 

It  is  very  difificult  to  define  the  limits  of  our  study,  for 
it  is  all  but  impossible  to  fix  the  beginnings  of  psychology. 
At  the  outset,  it  will  be  remembered,  we  admitted  that  sci- 
entific study  differs  in  method,  not  in  material,  from  every- 
day observation.  It  is  natural,  therefore,  that  the  one 
should  melt  into  the  other  without  any  fixed  line  of  demar- 
cation. No  one,  for  example,  would  reckon  Homer  among 
the  psychologists,  yet  the  germs  of  a  classification  of  psy- 
chic facts  are  found,  in  his  nice  distinctions  between  the 
emotional  experiences  which  he  designates  by  the  words 
/ieVo9,  6ufx6^,  Kaphia  and  rjTop. 

424 


Psychological  Systems  425 

In  this  chapter,  we  shall  somewhat  arbitrarily  set  out 
from  Plato.  This  bars  out,  in  the  first  place,  the  search 
for  suggestions  of  psychology  in  Oriental  teachings,  but 
the  omission  is  insignificant,  since  the  Eastern  mind  is 
metaphysical,  rather  than  scientific,  containing  philosophi- 
cal teachings  about  the  soul,  rather  than  psychological 
observations  of  the  phenomena  of  consciousness.  A  more 
serious  omission  is  that  of  the  pre-Platonic  Greek  teaching ; 
for  the  beginnings  of  psychology  are  clearly  discernible  in 
the  teachings  of  the  Sophists,  and  Sokrates  founded  his 
vigorous  ethical  doctrine  on  psychological  observation. 
The  teachings  both  of  the  Sophists  and  of  Sokrates  were, 
however,  in  a  sense,  incorporated  in  the  systems  of  Plato 
and  of  Aristotle. 

We  are  ready  now  for  a  preliminary  classification  of 
psychological  systems,  a  sort  of  outline  map  of  the  way 
before  us.  The  first  division  which  suggests  itself  is  that 
between  '  philosophical '  and  '  scientific  '  systems.  By 
'  philosophical '  psychology  is  meant  simply  a  combina- 
tion, and  often  a  confusion,  of  psychology  with  philosophy. 
Such  a  system  includes  psychological  analysis  and  classi- 
fication, else  it  would  not  be  psychology  at  all,  but  it 
explains  and  often  describes  the  facts  which  it  observes,  by 
referring  them,  not  to  other  facts,  but  to  a  metaphysical 
system  of  reality.  This  confusion  of  psychology  and  phi- 
losophy certainly  is  unjustified,  yet  all  ancient  and  mediae- 
val systems,  and  all  modern  theories,  excepting  some  of 
the  most  recent,  have  shown  precisely  this  confusion. 
They  have  treated  psychology  as  a  branch  of  philosophy, 
and  have  described  its  phenomena,  not  as  scientific  facts, 
but  as  themselves  metaphysical  realities  or  else  as  mani- 
festations of  metaphysical  reality.  There  are  three  main 
forms  of  this  philosophical  psychology :  spiritualistic, 
materialistic  and  associationist  theory. 

Spiritualistic  psychology,  which  we  shall  first  consider, 
is  the  doctrine  that  conscious  experiences  are  faculties  or 
activities  of  a  soul.    We  must  first,  therefore,  ask  ourselves 


426  The  Doctrme  of  the  Soul 

what  is  meant  by  'soul'  The  question  is  not  an  easy  one 
to  answer,  but  the  outUne  which  follows  includes  the  impor- 
tant features  of  the  soul  doctrine.  The  reflective  savage 
must  have  noticed  that  his  thoughts  were  relatively  inde- 
pendent of  his  body.  This  must  early  have  impressed  him 
in  connection  with  his  dreams.  He  would  wake  from  a 
dream  of  hunting  in  a  dusky  forest,  to  find  himself  lying 
at  full  length  in  his  hut ;  and  a  more  wakeful  companion 
would  assure  him  that  he  had  not  stirred  the  whole  night 
through.  Thus  he  would  gain,  gradually,  a  distinction 
between  the  inner  life  of  feelings  and  the  outer  life  of 
things.  The  savage  would  discover  that  the  inner  life  of 
his  dreams  and  imaginations  was  his  own,  unshared  by  his 
companions,  whereas,  the  external  things  were  acknowledged 
by  all  the  people  of  his  family  and  tribe.  He  would  not, 
however,  be  able  to  think  of  the  inner  Hfe  except  as  a 
shadow  or  image  of  the  outer;  and  thus  he  would  gain,  little 
by  little,  an  image  of  the  soul,  as  a  shadowy  sort  of  body, 
lighter  and'  more  easily  moved  than  his  flesh  and  blood 
body,  in  some  way  detachable  from  it,  but,  on  the  whole, 
inferior  to  it.  The  Homeric  account  of  the  visit  of  Odys- 
seus to  the  souls  of  the  dead  Hellenes,  in  the  home  of 
Hades,  well  illustrates  these  aspects  of  the  early  concep- 
tions of  the  soul. 

We  have  not  time  to  dwell  on  the  development  of  the 
soul  doctrine,  but  must  simply  name  the  relatively  per- 
manent features  of  the  conception,  as  it  appears  in  philo- 
sophical and  in  psychological  systems.  In  the  first  place, 
the  soul  is  regarded  as  somewhat  which  underlies  con- 
sciousness and  has  consciousness,  but  which  is  not  merely 
identical  with  consciousness.  That  is  what  is  meant  by 
the  common  assertion  that  the  soul  is  a  substance.  It 
is  fair  to  add  that  most  doctrines  of  soul  substance  seem 
really  to  retain  a  trace  of  the  primitive  conception  that  the 
soul  is  a  sort  of  material  thing.  But  in  the  second  place, 
the  soul  is  distinguished  from  the  body,  primarily  because 
it  has  consciousness,  but  also  because  it  is  believed  in  some 


The  Psychology  of  Plato  427 

way  to  control  the  body.  From  this  condensed  account  of 
the  common  features  of  spiritualistic  doctrine  about  the  soul, 
we  shall  go  on  to  outline  briefly  the  psychology  of  Plato. 

There  is  no  systematic  summary  of  Plato's  psychological 
teaching.  It  is  scattered,  here  and  there,  through  the  dif- 
ferent dialogues,  in  close  connection  with  philosophical  or 
with  ethical  conclusions.  Yet  we  are  justified  in  admitting 
that  Plato  has  a  psychology,  for  not  only  is  his  observation 
of  the  life  of  consciousness  keen  and  discriminating,  but  he 
shows  also  the  clear  beginnings  of  psychological  classifica- 
tion. To  most  students  of  Plato,  this  mention  of  classifica- 
tion is  likely  to  suggest  the  best  known  of  his  divisions  of 
the  soul,  an  account  embodied  in  the  beautiful  myth  of  the 
Phaidros.  This  figures  the  soul  as  a  charioteer.  Reason, 
who  drives  two  steeds,  a  rebellious  black  horse,  symboliz- 
ing evil  passions,  and  a  gentle  white  steed,  representing 
good  desires.  This  enumeration  of  faculties  is  certainly, 
however,  ethical  and  not  psychological,  for  reason  and  evil 
impulse  and  good  desire  are  complex  states  distinguished 
for  their  moral  significance.  But  comparison  of  the  dif- 
ferent dialoo-ues  will  show  that  Plato  elsewhere  distin- 
guishes  sense, ^  memory,  passive  and  active,  {}ivi]fjLri  and 
dvd/xvT]ai<;),^  comparison,^  generalization*  and  impulse.^ 
Sense  is  sharply  distinguished  from  thought,  as  a  whole, 
and  is  regarded  as  vastly  inferior;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  this  low 
valuation  of  sensations,  Plato's  enumeration  of  them  is  far 
more  accurate  than  that  of  many  modern  writers,  for  he  dis- 
tinguishes sensations  of  pleasure,  pain,  cold  and  warmth,*^  as 
well  as  sensations  of  sight,  hearing,  smell,  taste  and  touch. 

An  interesting  instance  of   the  occasional   conflict   be- 
tween philosophy  and  psychology,  in  Plato's  teaching,  is 


1  "Theaitetos,"  156  ei  al. 

2  "I'hilehos,"  34;  cf.  "Theaitetos,"  191  se//.  and  198,  and  "Phaidon,"  y^set/. 
3Cf.  "Theaitetos,"  184-186. 

*  Cf.  "  Parmenides,"  132;    "Phaidon,"  74;    "Theaitetos,"  184-186. 

5  Cf.  "  Phaidros,"  253-254;    "  Republic,"  Bk.  III.,  439  set/. 

6  "Theaitetos,"  156. 


428  The  Psychology  of  Dcmokritos 

the  opposition  of  his  metaphysical  doctrine,  that  the  soul 
is  essentially  self-moved/  to  his  psychological  teaching  that 
bodily  changes  condition  sensations.  To  tell  the  truth, 
this  inconsistency  is  common  to  spiritualistic  systems. 
Without  exception,  they  are  unconsciously  dualistic,  that 
is,  while  they  define  consciousness  as  a  function  of  the 
soul,  they  also  look  upon  it  as  in  some  sense  occasioned  by 
bodily  changes.  Plato  definitely  formulates  this  teaching. 
"  Sensation,"  he  says,^  "is  carried  through  the  body  to  the 
soul."  The  cause  of  sensation,  he  elsewhere  teaches,^  is 
the  mingling  of  actual  emanations  from  the  organ  and 
from  the  exciting  object,  for  example,  the  mingling  of 
sight  from  the  eye  and  whiteness  from  the  object. 

Nearly  contemporaneous  with  the  system  of  Plato  was 
that  of  a  great  philosopher,  whose  view  of  reality  was  utterly 
opposed  to  Plato's.  This  is  Demokritos,  the  first  of  the 
Greek  materialists,  a  severely  consistent  and  a  brilliantly 
original  thinker.  He  taught  that  the  universe,  conscious- 
ness included,  is  in  its  ultimate  reality  a  complex  of  moving 
particles  or  atoms,  differing  only  in  number,  in  order,  in 
arrangement  and  in  motion.  The  soul  atoms,  he  held,  are 
fire-atoms,  differing  from  others  by  being  finer,  smoother 
and  more  mobile.  So  far,  of  course,  we  have  only  a  mate- 
rialistic philosophy  of  consciousness.  But  Demokritos  must 
have  attempted  a  psychological  classification,  for  we  are  told 
that  he  distinguished  four  colors,  and  that  he  regarded 
black  as  composed  of  the  others.  Such  assertions  as  that 
sense  atoms  are  finer  than  thought  atoms  and  that  bitter- 
ness is  made  up  of  angular  atoms  *  are  a  curious  mixture 
of  psychology  and  physics. 

This  account  of  Demokritos,  meagre  as  it  is,  includes 
almost  all  which  we  know  of  the  great  thinker's  psychology. 
Greek  literature  has  hardly  sustained  a  greater  loss  than 

1  Cf.  "  Phaidros,"  245.  2  «  philebos,"  n  c. 

3  "Timaios,"  66;  cf.  "  Theaitetos." 

*  Cf.  RiUer  u.  Preller,  "  Historia  Philosophine  GrcecDe,"  8th  ed.,  1898,  199 
and  200, 


The  Psychology  of  Aristotle  429 

that  which  it  met,  when  the  works  of  Demokritos  perished 
with  the  great  Alexandrian  Hbrary.  Historically,  however, 
the  system  of  Demokritos  exerted  very  little  influence,  and 
psychology  swung  back,  with  philosophy,  to  the  spiritualistic 
standpoint  of  Aristotle.  The  "  Psychology  "  of  Aristotle 
is  the  very  earliest  treatise  on  psychology,  and  is  well  worth 
reading  to-day,  not  primarily  for  its  great  antiquarian  in- 
terest, but  because  of  its  discriminating  analysis  and  classi- 
fication of  the  facts  of  consciousness.  The  "  Psychology  " 
is  made  up  of  three  Books,  of  which  the  first,  deeply  dyed 
in  metaphysics,  is  a  historical  study  of  soul-theories.  Book 
II.  starts  out  with  an  exposition  of  Aristotle's  own  doctrine 
of  the  soul.  He  defines  it  now  as  'form,'  now  as  'sub- 
stance,' and  again  as  'actuality,'  or  completeness  of  the 
body.  From  this  he  goes  on  to  a  discussion  of  sense-per- 
ception, setting  forth  the  physical  and  physiological  condi- 
tions of  sensation,  with  remarkable  detail  and  system.  The 
opinions  of  Aristotle  on  physics  and  on  physiology  are  not, 
of  course,  any  longer  valuable  in  themselves.  They  include, 
it  is  true,  much  which  is  correct,  and  much  which  antici- 
pates the  results  of  later  study.  The  teaching  that  sound 
is  air  vibration,^  and  the  doctrine  that  touch  is  the  '  pre- 
supposition of  the  other  senses  '  and  that '  life  is  constituted 
by  this  sense  '  ^  are  examples  of  Aristotle's  successful  obser- 
vation and  theory.  Yet  much  which  he  teaches  on  these 
subjects  is  incomprehensible,  for  example,  his  doctrine  of 
light  as  '  pellucity  ' ;  and  still  more  of  his  teaching  is  utterly 
mistaken,  for  example,  his  theory  that  the  heart  is  the  bodily 
centre  of  consciousness,  and  that  the  brain  is  merely  a  sort 
of  cooling  apparatus  to  counteract  the  great  heat  of  the 
heart.  In  this  last  regard,  Aristotle  is  distinctly  behind 
Plato,  for  Plato  taught  that  the  brain  is  the  bodily  centre 
of  thought,  though  not  of  desire  and  of  sensation.  Yet  the 
psychology  of  Aristotle,  as  a  whole,  advances  upon  that  of 
Plato,  precisely  in  the  completeness  and  consistency  with 

1  "  Psychology,"  Bk.  II.,  Chapter  VIII.  2  op.  cit.,  Bk.  HI.,  Chapter  XIII. 


430  The  Psychology  of  Aristotle 

which  he  carries  out,  systematically,  the  method  which  Plato 
had  employed  incidentally  :  the  classification  of  psychical 
experiences  by  referring  them  to  distinct  physical  phe- 
nomena and  to  different  physiological  organs. 

To  Aristotle,  as  well  as  to  Plato,  consciousness  is  more 
than  mere  sense-perception.  His  teaching,  however,  is 
difificult,  because  it  really  includes  two  distinct  conceptions 
of  the  unsensuous  consciousness.  The  first  of  these,  one 
may  outline  as  follows,  commenting  on  it  as  one  proceeds : 
besides  sense  and  desire,^  we  have  thought  {to  voelv), 
which  has  two  main  forms,  imagination  {(^avraala),  and 
conception(L'7ro'\7;\|r/\).2  Imagination  is  admirably  described 
as  the  picturing  faculty,'^  which  does  not  concern  itself  with 
the  true  or  false.**  Conception,  or  thought  in  the  narrower 
sense,  is  distinguished  not  from  a  strictly  psychological 
standpoint,  but  according  as  it  deals  with  the  true,  or  with 
the  contingent.  Desire  is  described  as  'motive  faculty,'^ 
is  classified  as  rational  or  irrational,  and  is  emphatically 
asserted  to  depend  upon  imagination.  "  No  animal,"  Aris- 
totle says,  "  can  have  the  faculty  of  desire  unless  it  have 
imagination  "  {opeKTiKov  he  ovk  avev  (fiavra(TLa<;).^  This  is  a 
long,  long  step  toward  the  very  modern  doctrine  of  volition 
as  essentially  anticipatory  image. 

Aristotle  holds,  as  has  been  pointed  out,  a  second  theory 
of  the  unsensational  consciousness.  In  this  doctrine,  never 
closely  coordinated  with  the  rest  of  his  teaching,  he  has  a 
curious  and  comprehensive  term  by  which  he  designates  all 
the  unsensational  activities  of  consciousness:  the  'common 
sense' (KoivbvaladrjTrjpLov).  This  common  or  central,  sense 
has  really,  according  to  Aristotle,  three  functions.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  that  by  which  we  are  conscious  of  the  *  com- 
mon sensibles  '  apprehended  by  more  than  one  sense  :  rest, 
movement,   figure  and  magnitude ;  "*   in  the  second  place, 

1  "  Psychology,"  Vol.  III.,  Chapter  X.      2  /^/V.,  Chapter  III.,  §  5. 
3//W,§6.  *Ibid.,^-j. 

&  Ibid.,  Chapter  X.  6  op.  ciL,  Bk.  III.,  Chapter  X.,  §  9. 

^  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  III.,  Chapter  I.,  §  5. 


The  Doctrine  of  the  'Common  Sense'      431 

it  is  that  by  which  we  compare  and  discriminate  sense- 
experiences  ;  1  and  finally,  it  is  that  by  which  we  recognize 
sensations  as  our  own,  in  other  words,  by  which  we  are 
self-conscious.2  We  have  not  space  to  discuss,  in  detail,  the 
considerations  suggested  by  this  doctrine,  as  notable  for  its 
keen  discrimination  as  for  its  curious  confusions.  It  is  evi- 
dent, however,  that  the  functions  of  this  common-sense  are 
so  distinct  that  they  cannot  fairly  be  grouped  together. 
The  consciousness  of  motion  and  of  figure  are,  indeed,  we 
are  disposed  to  agree  with  Aristotle,  sensational,  yet  not 
so  utterly  different,  as  he  supposes,  from  the  consciousness 
of  color  or  of  flavor.  Comparison  and  discrimination,  on 
the  contrary,  are  precisely  what  Aristotle  has  himself  called 
thought,  and  there  is  no  appropriateness  in  the  term  '  sense,' 
as  applied  to  them.  The  third  part  of  the  common-sense 
doctrine  is,  doubtless,  essentially  correct  in  its  teaching  that 
psychology,  even  while  it  studies,  not  the  '  soul '  but  sensa- 
tion and  thought,  is  none  the  less  a  study,  not  merely  of 
conscious  functions,  but  of  a  self  who  is  conscious.  It  is, 
however,  very  misleading  to  name  self-consciousness  '  com- 
mon-sense,' and  to  confuse  it  with  comparison  and  space- 
consciousness. 

One  important  topic  of  Aristotle's  psychology  has  not 
even  been  mentioned,  because  of  its  definitely  philosophi- 
cal character:  his  doctrine  of  creative  reason.  We  cannot, 
however,  conclude  our  study,  brief  as  it  is,  without  a  ref- 
erence to  the  minor  treatises,  De  Scnsu,  De  Soinno,  and  De 
Memoria,  to  quote  them  by  their  Latin  names.  These  little 
monographs  are  full  of  suggestive  observation  and  analysis. 
The  first  supplements  the  second  book  of  the  Psychology ; 
the  second  considers  the  psychology  of  dreams;  the  third 
discusses  the  phenomena  and  laws  of  association,  in  a  far 
more  discriminating  way  than  most  modern  treatises. 

The  most  impressive  part  of  these  Hellenic  systems  of 
psychology  is  the  frequency  with  which  Plato,  and  espe- 

1  op.  cit.,  Bk.  III.,  Chapter  I.,  §  7.  -  Unci.,  Chapter  II.,  §  i,  425. 


432  Greek  Psychology 

cially  Aristotle,  cut  loose  from  their  metaphysical  leading 
strings,  and  employ  the  strictly  scientific  methods,  analyz- 
ing conscious  experiences  and  classifying  them  by  refer- 
ence, not  to  philosophical  realities,  but  to  physiological  and 
physical  facts.  There  could  hardly  be  a  stronger  historical 
argument  for  the  essentially  scientific  nature  of  psychology. 
Incidentally,  also,  the  study  of  Greek  psychology  is  of 
value,  in  counteracting  the  modern  view  that  all  scientific 
observation  and  theory,  psychological  included,  is  a  purely 
nineteenth-century  product.  And  there  is,  finally,  a  direct 
advantage  in  the  study  of  these  ancient  systems.  Nobody, 
for  example,  can  carefully  read  the  psychological  works  of 
Aristotle  without  being  stimulated  to  keener  introspection 
and  to  more  vigorous  thought. 

A  study  of  the  later  Greek  psychology  would  not  sub- 
serve the  aim  of  this  very  general  survey.  We  should  find 
very  many  suggestive  expositions,  for  example,  St.  Augus- 
tine's chapters  on  memory,^  but  we  should  discover  few 
new  principles ;  for  ancient,  mediaeval  and  scholastic  psy- 
chology alike  are  dominated  by  the  influence  of  Plato,  and, 
in  greater  degree,  by  that  of  Aristotle.  The  only  important 
exception  to  this  statement,  the  Epikurean  doctrine,  is 
modelled  on  the  system  of  Demokritos. 

Our  review  of  Greek  psychology  has  thus  disclosed  one 
system,  that  of  Demokritos,  whose  background  of  meta- 
physics is  materialism,  and  two  systems  based  on  a  spirit- 
ualistic, yet  dualistic,  philosophy.  For  both  Plato  and 
Aristotle  taught  that  conscious  phenomena  are  soul-activi- 
ties, and  in  this  sense  their  philosophy  is  spiritualistic ;  yet 
they  also  taught  that  consciousness  is  influenced  by  bodily 
phenomena,  and  by  this  teaching  their  systems  become 
dualistic.  Modern  philosophy  contains  still  another  modi- 
fication of  spiritualistic  doctrine,  namely,  parallelism ;  and  an 
utterly  new  philosophic  conception,  that  of  associationism. 

1  "Confessions,"  X.,  19,  and  XI.,  7. 


The  Psychology  of  Descartes  433 

We  shall  consider  very  briefly  the  psychological  systems, 
whose  metaphysical  starting-point  is  parallelism.  Des- 
cartes ^  introduced  into  philosophy  the  conception  of  psy- 
chic and  physical  events  as  perfectly  parallel  but  utterly 
distinct  and  unlike  each  other,"^  and  as  influencing  each 
other  at  one  point  only,  the  pineal  gland  of  the  brain.^  His 
conception  of  psychology  is  therefore  practically  that  of 
Plato ;  but  his  views  of  bodily  phenomena  are  far  more 
accurate,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  shares  the  common  be- 
lief of  his  time,  that  the  nerves  are  mere  channels  through 
which  the  animal  spirits,  or  subtlest  particles  of  the 
blood,  flow  from  the  brain  to  the  muscles.*  He  describes 
and  classifies  conscious  phenomena  as  soul-activity,  or  will 
{volojitc),  and  soul-passivity  —  perception,  imagination  and 
emotion.^  His  detailed  account  of  the  emotions  derives 
them  from  the  six  basal  feelings  of  wonder,  love,  hate,  de- 
sire, joy  and  sadness.  His  introspective  analysis  is  both 
suggestive  and  discriminating,  but  unquestionably  the  chief 
interest  of  his  work  is  his  vivid  description  of  what  he  calls 
the  '  causes  '  "  of  these  passions  :  the  variations  in  pulse,  in 
bodily  warmth  and  in  digestive  conditions,  and  his  equally 
accurate  description  of  the  '  external  signs  ' ' :  blushing, 
turning  pale,  laughing  and  crying.  In  all  this,  Descartes 
is  at  his  best,  and  the  modern  student  of  the  bodily  accom- 
paniments of  the  emotions  will  find  in  Descartes's  little 
work  not  merely  an  anticipation  of  the  James- Lange  theory,^ 
but  the  summarized  result  of  much  keen  observation. 

With  the  rigid  consistency  which  characterizes   all  his 

1  Rene  Descartes,  born  1596,  died  1650. 

2  Cf.  "  Meditation,"  VI :  "  It  is  certain  that  my  mind  is  entirely  and  truly 
distinct  from  my  body."     Cf.  "  Principles,"  Pt.  I.,  VIII. 

3  "  Les  Passions  de  I'Ame,"  Premiere  Parlie,  Art.  31,  42,  ct  al.  Cf.  "Medi- 
tation," VI.  Descartes's  reason  for  believing  that  the  pineal  gland  is  'seat  of 
the  soul '  is,  that  the  other  parts  of  the  brain  are  double,  whereas  "there  is  but 
one  sole  and  simple  thought  of  the  same  thing  at  the  same  time." 

*  Ibid.,  Premiere  Partie,  Art.  10  et  al.  ''  Ibid.,  2me  Partie,  Arts.  1 12  scq. 

5  Ibid.,  Premiere  Partie,  Art.  17.  *  Cf.  Chapter  XX.,  p.  2945^^. 

6  Ibid.,  2me  Partie,  Arts.  95  seq. 

2F 


434  '^^^^  Psychology  of  Spinoza 

thought,  Spinoza^  carries  into  his  psychology  the  parallel- 
ism which  he  adopts  from  Descartes.  His  philosophy 
may  be  termed  a  Monism,  that  is  to  say,  he  teaches  that 
both  consciousness  (which  he  calls  Thought)  and  matter 
(which  he  calls  Extension)  are  parallel  manifestations  of  a 
deeper  reality,  Substance  or  God.  Since,  however,  on  his 
view,  body  does  not  influence  mind,^  any  more  than  mind 
affects  body,  the  psychology  of  Spinoza  is,  in  a  way,  a 
spiritualistic  system.  He  has  also  a  tendency  to  regard 
ideas,  without  reference  to  the  mind  which  has  them,  as 
determining  each  other ;  and  in  this  way  his  psychology  is 
a  forerunner  of  associationism.  He  was  certainly  influ- 
enced, in  a  marked  way,  by  his  older  English  contempo- 
rary, Thomas  Hobbes,  first  of  British  Associationists.  Like 
Descartes,  Spinoza  centres  his  psychological  interest  in  the 
study  of  the  emotions.  His  doctrine  contains  important 
elements  of  Descartes's  teaching,  mingled  with  the  theory 
of  Hobbes,  that  joy  and  sorrow  are,  essentially,  self-preser- 
vation and  self-destruction.  Both  doctrines,  however,  are 
modified  in  accordance  with  Spinoza's  highly  individual 
system.  Emotions  are  defined  as  "  affections  of  the  body, 
by  which  its  power  of  motion  is  increased  or  diminished, 
and  tJie  ideas  occurring  at  tJie  same  timer  ^  Emotions  are 
thus  regarded  no  longer,  as  by  Descartes,  as  effects  of 
bodily  change,  but  merely  as  close  accompaniments  of  these 
changes.  Though  undertaken  as  a  basis  for  his  ethical 
teaching,  Spinoza's  analyses  and  descriptions  of  the  differ- 
ent emotions  are  discriminating  and  often  brilliant,  in  spite 
of  the  rigid  and  dogmatic  form  of  the  "  Ethics,"  which  is 
made  up,  like  a  textbook  in  geometry,  of  definitions,  axioms, 
theorems  and  corollaries. 

The  psychology  of  Leibniz,  the  third  of  the  great  con- 
tinental philosophers  of  the  sevisnteenth  century,  is  again 

1  Baruch  de  Spinoza,  born,  Amsterdam,  1632;   died,  the  Hague,  1677. 

2  Cf.  "  Ethics,"  Pt.  III.,  Prop.  II.     "The  body  cannot  determine  the  mind 
to  thought,  neither  can  the  mind  determine  the  body  to  motion  uox  rest." 

3  "  Ethics,"  Pt.  111.,  Definition  III. 


The  Psychology  of  Leibniz  435 

a  spiritualistic  doctrine.  So  closely,  however,  is  psycholog- 
ical analysis  interwoven  with  metaphysical  doctrine,  that  it 
is  hardly  possible  to  describe  the  psychology  without  a 
detailed  discussion  of  the  metaphysics.  Perhaps  the  most 
significant  contribution  of  Leibniz  to  psychology  is  his 
sharp  distinction  between  inattentive  and  attentive  con- 
sciousness iypetites  perceptions  and  appejreption)}  Later 
psychology  has  unjustifiably  made  this  over  into  a  doctrine 
of  unconscious  ideas.^  It  should  be  added  that  writers 
of  the  Leibniz  school  enlarged  the  division  of  conscious 
functions,  current  since  the  days  of  Aristotle,  by  expressly 
recognizing  emotions  as  well  as  knowledge  and  volition.^ 

These  continental  systems  may  be  lightly  passed  over 
in  this  summary,  since  no  one  of  them  has  exerted  an  im- 
portant influence  on  psychological  theory,  whereas  each 
has  been  immensely  significant  to  the  history  of  philos- 
ophy. But  though  we  are  justified  in  this  slight  treatment 
of  the  early  continental  writers,  we  must  approach  the 
British  school  in  a  very  different  way,  for  its  currents 
still  mingle  with  the  stream  of  present-day  psychological 
tendencies,  and  its  principles  have  been  formative  ones 
in  the  growth  of  modern  psychology.  The  first  of  Eng- 
lish psychologists  is  Thomas  Hobbes,"^  the  only  English- 
man, if  we  except  Herbert  Spencer,  who  has  ever  produced 
a  complete  system  of  metaphysics.  The  philosophy  of 
Hobbes  is  a  physical  materialism  :  he  reduces  all  phenom- 
ena, facts  of  consciousness  included,  to  forms  of  motion, 
defining  sensation  as  *  some  internal  motion  in  the  sen- 
tient,' ^  and  delight  as  a  '  motion  proceeding  to  the  heart.' ^ 

1  Cf.  "New  Essays,"  Preface  and  Bk.  II.,  Chapter  I.  (pp.  47  seq.  and 
112  seq.,  Langley's  translation).  ^  Cf.  this  chapter,  p.  439. 

3  Cf.  Windelband,  "  History  of  Philosophy,"  p.  512. 

*  Hobbes  was  born  in  1588,  and  died  in  1679.  His  most  important  psycho- 
logical work  is  the  "  Human  Nature,"  written  in  1642,  though  published  later, 
English  Works,  Vol.  I.  See  also  "  De  Corpore,"  1668,  and  "Leviathan," 
Bk.  I. 

^  "  Concerning  Body,"  English  Works,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  390. 

6  "  Concerning  Human  Nature,"  English  Works,  Vol.  I.,  Chapter  VII.,  p.  31. 


436  The  Psychology  of  Hobbcs 

Yet,  more  successfully  than  any  writer  who  has  been 
named,  Hobbes  attempts  to  keep  his  philosophy  out  of 
his  psychology,  so  that  his  treatises  are,  to  this  day,  very 
well  worth  reading,  for  their  keen  analysis  and  their  vigor- 
ous expression.  They  contain  also  definite  anticipations 
of  later  theories.  For  example,  the  James-Lange  emotion 
theory  is  clearly  suggested  by  this  account  of  passion  : 
"  When  the  action  of  an  object  is  continued  from  the 
eyes,  ears  and  other  organs  to  the  Heart  .  .  .  the  sense 
of  that  motion  ...  we  either  call  Delight  or  Trouble  of 
Mind."  1  And  Miinsterberg's  account  of  volition  as  anti- 
cipatory idea,  is  foreshadowed  in  the  definition  of  will  as 
"  the  last  appetite  or  aversion  immediately  adhering  to  the 
action."^ 

It  should  be  said  also  that  Hobbes,  far  more  adequately 
than  many  who  followed  him,  often  treated  psychology 
as  a  social  science  of  related  selves.  This  view  is  espe- 
cially prominent  in  his  analysis  of  emotions,  and  two  quo- 
tations shall  conclude  this  outline,  both  illustrative  of 
Hobbes's  pessimistic  belief  in  the  exclusively  egoistic  and 
overbearing  tendencies  of  human  beings.  "  Sudden  Glory," 
he  says,  "is  the  passion  which  maketh  those  Grimaces 
called  Laughter;  and  is  caused  either  by  some  sudden 
art  of  their  own  which  pleaseth  them,  or  by  the  appre- 
hension of  some  deformed  thing  in  another  by  comparison 
whereof  they  suddenly  applaud  themselves."  "  Grief  for 
the  Calamity  of  another,"  he  says,  a  little  later,  "  is  Pitty ; 
and  ariseth  from  the  imagination  that  the  like  calamity  may 
befal  himself."  ^ 

The  vahic  of  the  psychology  of  Hobbes,  is,  however, 
out  of  all  proportion  to  its  influence,  which  was  sHght. 
For  the  suspicion,  right  or  wrong,  of  his  atheism,  and  the 
certainty  of  his  materialism  roused  among  his  contem- 
poraries a  horror  of  his  doctrines,  which  greatly  reduced 
the   effectiveness   of   his  teaching.     It  is  quite  otherwise 

1  "  Leviathan,"  Pt.  I.,  Chapter  VI.  2  jbij,  3  jbid. 


The  Psychologv  of  Locke  437 

with  John  Locke,^  whose  great  work,  the  "  Essay  on  Human 
Understanding,"  in  large  measure  determined  the  course  of 
English  philosophy.  The  book,  which  was  very  widely 
read,  is  like  all  the  treatises  which  have  so  far  been  named, 
a  mixture  of  psychology  and  philosophy.  It  is  a  curious 
triple  web  of  idea-theory,  mental-faculty  doctrine,  and 
philosophy  of  spirit  and  matter.  Its  general  merits  are 
the  fearlessness  and  the  honesty  with  which  it  is  written, 
and  the  definiteness  with  which  it  translates  everyday 
philosophical  conceptions  into  vigorous  and  unambiguous 
English.  Its  main  psychological  values  are  two :  they  can 
be  briefly  stated,  but  their  immense  importance  must  not 
be  lost  out  of  sight.  First  and  foremost,  the  book  is  a 
model  of  honest  and  independent  introspection.  It  con- 
tinually drives  the  student  to  examine  his  own  experience ; 
and  it  abounds  in  assertions  of  the  individuality  of  intro- 
spection. "  Can  another  man,"  Locke  exclaims,  "  perceive 
that  I  am  conscious  of  anything,  when  I  perceive  it  not 
myself.?  "2  "All  that  I  can  say  of  my  book,"  he  later 
writes  of  it,  "is  that  it  is  a  copy  of  my  own  mind."^ 

In  the  second  place,  Locke  virtually  introduces  what  a 
famous  opponent  called  his  '  new  way  by  ideas.'  That  is 
to  say,  Locke  is  first  to  look  at  experience  not  only  as  a 
combination  of  soul-activities  or  mental  faculties,  but  as  a 
succession  of  ideas,  to  be  analyzed  and  classified  by  the 
psychologist.  This  is  a  conception  of  the  greatest  signifi- 
cance, introducing  into  psychology  a  method  which  has 
never,  since  Locke's  day,  been  abandoned,  and  preparing  the 
way  for  the  characteristic  system  of  English  psychology. 

The  next  great  British  philosopher,  George  Berkeley,* 
perpetuated  this  psychological  method.  What  is  known  as 
the  '  empirical '  space  theory  is,  as  we  have  seen,^  a  contri- 
bution of  Berkeley  to  psychological  theory.  Yet  Berkeley's 
theory  of  ideas  and   even  his  space  doctrine  are  strictly 

1  1632-1704.     The  "  Essay"  was  published  in  1690. 

2  "  Essay,"  Bk.  II.,  Chapter  I.,  19.  ^  Letter  to  Bishop  of  Worcester. 
■*  1685-1753.                                                ^  Cf,  Chapter  VII.,  p.  895^7. 


438  The  Psychology  of  Hume 

subordinated  to  his  metaphysical  system,  and  no  one  of  his 
works  approaches  Hume's^  "Treatise  on  Human  Nature" 
in  psychological  value. 

The  importance  of  Hume's  psychology  is  this :  it  is  the 
foundation  of  British  Associationism.  This  form  of  philo- 
sophical psychology  has  so  dominated  the  English  school, 
that  we  must  consider  its  general  features  before  going  on 
to  study  any  expression  of  it.  The  underlying  conception 
of  associationism  is  simply  this  :  each  'idea,'  or  fact  of  con- 
sciousness, is  viewed  as  an  independent  and  revivable  reality, 
and  as  endowed  with  a  certain  power  or  force  known  as 
association.  A  practical  addition  to  most  associationist  theo- 
ries, from  Hume's  onward,  is  the  conviction  that  given  as- 
sociation and  sensations  only,  all  psychic  phenomena  can  be 
satisfactorily  accounted  for ;  in  other  words,  associationism 
is  usually,  though  not  of  necessity,  a  sensationaHst  doctrine. 

This  definition  must  now  be  substantiated  by  quotations 
from  several  writers,  including,  first,  certain  statements  of 
the  permanence  and  revivability  of  ideas.  "  Any  sensa- 
tions A,  B,  and  C,"  says  Hartley,  one  of  the  earliest  of 
associationists,  "  by  being  associated  with  one  another  get 
such  a  power  over  ideas  a,  b,  c,  that  any  one  of  the  sensa- 
tions .  .  .  shall  be  able  to  excite  in  the  mind  Ideas  of  the 
rest."  Here  '  the  ideas  a,  b,  and  c '  are  evidently  looked 
on  as  permanent  realities,  sometimes  in  the  mind  and  some- 
times out  of  it.  Priestley's  expression,  "  feelings  which 
ideas  have  power  of  recalling,"  suggests  the  same  view, 
and  statements  of  the  same  sort  could  be  multipHed.  The 
doctrine  of  association,  as  a  force,  is  illustrated  by  Hume's 
definition  of  association  as  a  '  gentle  force,'  ^  by  Hartley's 
statements  about  the  '  power  over  ideas '  through  associa- 
tion,^ and  by  Spencer's  assertions  *  that  feehngs  '  cohere ' 
and  '  integrate  '  and  compound  themselves. 

1  The  dates  of  Hume  are  1711-1776.     The  treatise  was  published  in   1739. 

2  "Treatise,"  Bk.  I.,  Pt.  1.,  §  4. 

3  "Observations  on  Man,"  Pt.  L,  Chapter  L,  Section  2,  Prop.  X. 

*  "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Pt.  II,     Cf.  especially  Chapter  VII. 


Associationist  Psychology  439 

We  have  finally  to  illustrate  the  conviction  of  the  asso- 
ciationist, that  association  is  the  sufficient  explanation  of  all 
conscious  experience.  "  Every  mental  affection  and  opera- 
tion," Priestley  says,  "are  but  different  modes  or  cases  of 
the  Association  of  Ideas."  '  All  intellectual  phenomena," 
Stuart  Mill  declares,  "are  derived  from  association.  .  .  . 
The  law  extends  to  everything."  ^  In  accordance  with  this 
view,  James  Mill  defines  love  as  association  of  agreeable- 
ness  with  object,  and  belief  as  inseparable  association  ;  and 
Hume  makes  belief  a  vivid  association.^ 

The  list  which  follows  names  important  British  asso- 
ciationists,  adding  occasionally  a  word  of  comment  on  their 
books : — 

David  Hume,  1711-1739. 

"Treatise  on  Human  Nature,"  1739;  "Inquiry,"  1749. 
David  Hartley,  i 704-1 757. 

''Observations  on  Man,"  1749.  An  interesting  work,  greatly  influ- 
enced by  Newton's  theory  of  vibrations,  which  Hartley  applies 
awkwardly,  though  suggestively,  to  the  physiology  of  the  nervous 
system.  The  book  is  a  curious  combination  of  physiology  and 
associationist  psychology. 
Abraham  Tucker,  i 705-1 774. 

"The  Light  of  Nature,"  1768-1777.     A  forgotten  book  full  of  good 
description  and  lively  illustration. 
Joseph  Priestley,  i  733-1804. 

Edition  of  Hartley,   i775-     Priestley  discards   the  physiology  and 
morals  which  'clog'  Hartley's  system. 
James  Mill,  1773-1836,  '  the  reviver  of  the  Association-theory.' 

"Analysis  of  the  Phenomena  of  Human  Mind,"  1829. 
John  Stuart  Mill,  1806- 1873. 

Notes  on  James   Mill's  "  Analysis."     Examination  of  Sir  William 
Hamilton's  "  Philosophy." 
Alexander  Bain,  1818- 

'•  Senses  and  Intellect,"  "Emotions  and  Will." 
Herbert  Spencer,  1820- 

"  Principles  of  Psychology."     (First  Ed.  1855.) 

Before  comment  upon  the  doctrine  thus  outlined,  men- 
tion must  be  made  of  associationism  in  Germany,  where, 

1  Note  to  James  Mill's  "  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind." 

2  "Treatise,"  Bk.  I.,  Pt.  III. 


440  Associationist  Psychology 

indeed,  the  doctrine  is  to-day  far  more  important  than  in 
England.  Its  first  great  exponent  was  J.  F.  Herbart,^  and 
it  is  represented,  in  more  modern  times,  by  Theodor  Lipps,^ 
by  Volkmann,^  and  by  others.  We  are  best  acquainted 
with  German  associationism  as  a  basis  of  pedagogy,  for 
Herbart  was  a  pedagogical  thinker  of  great  originality  and 
effectiveness ;  and  his  widest  influence  has  been  in  this 
field.  The  associationism  of  Herbart  is  philosophically 
peculiar  because  it  is  grafted  upon  a  very  different  type  of 
theory.  Herbart  believes  in  the  existence  of  soul-sub- 
stances, and  defines  ideas  as  '  self-preservations,'  and  thus 
as  activities  of  the  soul.  This  theory  sharply  distinguishes 
his  view  from  that  of  the  English  associationists,  who  ban- 
ish '  souls,'  and  treat  ideas  as  final  realities  and  souls  as 
entirely  de  trop.  Practically,  however,  the  two  types  of 
system  closely  approach  each  other,  for  Herbart  makes  no 
use  of  his  souls  to  account  for  psychic  phenomena,  and 
really  treats  experience  as  a  jostling  crowd  of  ideas  which 
reenforce  or  oppose  each  other.  The  result,  of  this  constant 
activity  of  the  independent  and  active  ideas,  he  describes  as 
their  alternating  disappearance  below  the  threshold  of  con- 
sciousness and  their  reappearance  above  it ;  and  the  succes- 
sive sinking  and  emergence  he  attributes  both  to  the  inherent 
force  of  each  idea  and  to  the  opposition  or  assistance  of 
other  ideas.  The  definition,  already  given,  of  association- 
ism is  thus  in  complete  accord  with  Herbart's  doctrine. 

Associationism  is  so  important,  not  only  as  a  historical 
movement  but  as  a  constant  tendency,  and  is  yet  so  mis- 
taken, that  the  exposition  of  it  cannot  be  left  without  com- 
ment. It  is  undeniably  an  easy  form  of  thought,  or  at 
least  of  expression.  We  can  readily  express  many  con- 
scious experiences,  emotional  unrest  and  deUberation,  for 

1  1776  to  1841.  Cf.  "  Lehrbuch  zur  Psychologic,"  1816  (translation  "Text- 
book of  Psychology,"  1891);  "  Psychologic  als  Wissenschaft,"  1824  (cf.  Pt,  I,, 
I.-IIL;   Pt.  III.,  I.). 

2  Grundtatsachen  d.  Seelenlebens,  1883. 
"  Lehrbuch  der  Psychologic,"  1884. 


Associationist  Psychology  441 

example,  as  conflicts  of  ideas  ;  and  what  is  originally  meta- 
phor grows  to  seem  like  reality.  More  seriously,  in  the 
second  place,  the  doctrine  of  permanent  and  revivable  ideas, 
possessed  of  an  activity  of  their  own,  would  offer  a  satis- 
factory explanation  of  certain  experiences  difficult  to  account 
for.  These  are,  first,  the  fact  that  events  long  forgotten 
are  recalled.  In  what  state,  Herbart  asks,  is  the  absent 
idea  "  which  is  yet  in  our  possession .''  "  And  his  answer 
may  be  summarized  thus  :  the  forgotten  idea  is  below  the 
threshold  of  consciousness  ;  it  must  exist,  else  we  should 
never  again  repossess  ourselves  of  it,  that  is,  remember  it ; 
and  yet  while  it  is  forgotten  we  evidently  are  not  conscious 
of  it.  In  the  same  way,  the  independent  but  unconscious 
existence  of  ideas  would  explain  the  spontaneous  occurrence 
of  ideas,  in  the  midst  of  our  thought  of  entirely  different 
things.  The  name,  which  flashes  upon  us  when  we  have 
given  over  trying  to  remember  it,  and  the  unexplained 
recollection  of  a  long-forgotten  scene  are  experiences^ 
which  argue  for  the  theory  of  permanent  ideas,  actively 
calling  each  other  up  or  suppressing  each  other. 

The  objections  to  the  theory  are,  however,  perfectly  con- 
clusive. In  the  first  place,  this  doctrine  of  independent 
idea-things  is  clearly  a  theory  of  final  reality,  that  is,  a  phi- 
losophy, and  not  a  psychology ;  for  psychology  is  primarily 
an  analysis  and  classification  of  conscious  experiences. 
Furthermore,  this  doctrine  of  the  idea  is  flatly  self-con- 
tradictory and  thus  invalid.  For  an  idea  is  a  phenome- 
non, or  event  of  consciousness ;  it  cannot  exist  when  no 
one  is  conscious  of  it,  for  it  is  no  more  nor  less  than  a  fact 
of  consciousness,  a  somewhat  which  is  conscious-ed,  so  to 
speak.  If  we  take  away  its  being  known,  we  have  taken 
away  its  very  being,  and  nothing  is  left.  So  also  an  idea, 
just  because  it  is  an  event,  is  temporal,  belongs  to  a  given 
moment  and  cannot  be  revived  at  another  time.  Nothing 
which  I  see  to-day  can  actually  bring  back  the  idea  which  I 


1  Cf.  Herbart,  "  Textbook,"  pp.  148,  174. 


<^     OF  THE         '      s^ 


442  Associationist  Psychology 

had  yesterday  morning  ;  it  is  gone  as  irrevocably  as  yester- 
day is  gone.  My  to-day's  idea  of  the  Shaw  Monument  is 
different  from  my  yesterday's  idea  of  it ;  this  minute's  idea 
of  a  bhie  jay  is  different  from  the  last  minute's  idea  of  it. 
We  assume  the  identity  of  the  two/  but  it  certainly  is  not 
an  actual  identity. 

With  this  exposition  and  criticism  of  associationism,  our 
review  of  philosophical  systems  of  psychology  is  really 
concluded.  For  the  sake,  however,  of  fairness  to  material- 
istic systems,  two  reappearances  of  materialistic  psychol- 
ogy must  be  mentioned.  It  is  characteristic  of  modern 
scientific  interests  that  these  are  physiological  in  the  type 
of  their  materialism,  and  not,  like  the  system  of  Demokri- 
tos,  and  in  less  degree  like  that  of  Hobbes,  a  physical 
materialism.  Two  groups  of  writers  have  espoused  this 
general  theory:  Condillac,^  Bonnet^  and  other  French 
writers  of  the  eighteenth  century ;  and  Karl  Vogt,*  Louis 
Biichner^  and  J.  Moleschott,^  German  writers  of  the  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Instead  of  treating  of  psychic 
and  physiological  facts  as  coordinate,  these  men  regard  the 
body  as  a  deeper  sort  of  reality  than  consciousness,  and 
consider  consciousness  as  a  function  of  the  brain,  teaching 
that  "  the  brain  secretes  thought." 


•&' 


From  this  rapid  survey  of  psychological  systems,  ancient 
and  modern,  we  turn  to  the  psychology  of  the  immediate 
present.  It  is  easy  to  detect  the  dominant  phase  of  these 
present-day  systems.  '  Psychology  as  a  science '  is  their 
war-cry,  and  however  they  quarrel  among  themselves,  they 
are  agreed  in  opposing  the  traditional  conception  of  psy- 
chology   as    a   philosophical   discipline.     In   speaking   of 

1  Cf.  Chapter  XIX.,  p.  259;   and  Chapter  XII.,  pp.  161-162. 

2  Cf.  especially  "Traite  des  Sensations,"  1754. 

3  Cf.  "  Essai  de  Psychologic,"  1755. 

*  Cf.  especially  "  Kohlerglaube  und  Wissen,"  1854. 

6  Cf.  "Kraft  und  Stoff,"  1855. 

^  Cf.  "  Kreislauf  des  Lebens,"  1852. 


Modern  '  Experimcntar  Psychology         443 

scientific  psychology,  we  must,  however,  guard  ourselves 
against  two  inadequate  conceptions  of  it.  Some  writers 
have  held  that  modern  psychology  is  scientific,  simpl)'  be- 
cause it  concerns  itself  so  deeply  with  the  physiological  con- 
ditions of  experience.  So,  Le  Conte  says  that  psychology 
is  but  another  name  for  nerve-physiology.  But  though 
psychology  rightly  attempts  to  assign  the  bodily  conditions 
of  consciousness,  it  does  not  thereby  lose  its  own  identity 
as  a  study  of  conscious  phenomena  ;  and,  in  truth,  it  con- 
siders bodily  facts  only  as  these  are  related  to  conscious- 
ness. Psychology  is,  therefore,  a  distinct  science,  not  a 
branch  of  physiology. 

The  modern  claim  that  psychology  must  be  ranked  among 
the  sciences  is  sometimes,  furthermore,  based  solely  on  the 
assertion  that  psychology,  giving  over  the  method  of  intro- 
spection, has  become  experimental.  There  is  certainly  no 
question  that  modern  psychology  is  through  and  through 
experimental.  The  elementary  student  begins  at  once  to 
repeat  the  well-known  experiments  on  himself ;  the  ad- 
vanced student  investigates  experimentally  some  original 
problem  ;  the  forward  movement  in  psychology  is,  in  a  word, 
by  the  method  of  experiment.  There  are  many  indications 
of  this  progress.  The  first  experiments,  carried  on  by  E. 
H.  Weber  and  elaborated  by  G.  T.  Fechner,  were  psycho- 
physical rather  than  psychological.  They  concerned  the 
relation  of  increase  of  stimulus  to  change  of  sensation,  and 
resulted  in  the  formulation  of  Weber's  Law.^  The  first 
laboratory,  that  of  Wilhelm  Wundt,  was  founded  in  1879. 
Its  early  problems  concerned  reaction-times,  applications 
of  Weber's  Law  and  discrimination  of  intervals,  and  were 
largely  or  wholly  attempts  to  connect  psychic  phenomena 
with  measurable  physical  facts.  To-day  there  certainly 
are  more  than  thirty  psychological  laboratories,  in  the 
United  States  alone.    And,  more  important  than  the  multi- 

1  Ernst  Heinrich  Weber,  "  De  Tactu,"  1834.  Cf.  Weber,  "Tastsinn  u. 
Gemeingefiihl,"  anrl  Gustav  Theodor  Fechner,  "  Elemente  der  Psychophysik," 
Leipzig,  i860,  especially  pp.  134  seq. 


444      ^^^'^  Conception  of  '  Scientific  '  Psychology 

plication  of  laboratories  and  equipments,  is  the  steady 
increase  of  scholarly  investigators  engaged  in  the  experi- 
mental study  of  psychological  problems.  These  problems, 
no  longer  restricted  to  the  study  of  purely  sensational  con- 
sciousness, are  so  widened  in  their  scope  that  they  include 
the  consideration  of  memory,  of  thought  and  even  of  emo- 
tion and  volition. 

The  most  obvious  distinction  of  the  present-day  psychol- 
ogy is  certainly,  therefore,  its  experimental  methods.  The 
significance  of  experiment  to  psychology  cannot,  indeed, 
be  overestimated.  As  safeguard  against  careless  intro- 
spection, and  as  stimulus  to  detailed  observation,  experi- 
ment is  of  untold  value  to  every  psychologist.  None  the 
less,  we  must  reject,  without  qualification,  the  suggestion 
of  certain  writers,  that  psychology  is  scientific  only  in  so 
far  as  it  is  experimental.  For  experiment,  as  we  have 
seen,^  is  a  method  of  strengthening  introspection,  not 
a  device  for  supplanting  it.  Psychology  to-day  is  as  in- 
trospective as  ever  it  was,  although  its  introspection  is 
guarded  and  invigorated  by  experiment.  Not,  therefore, 
because  it  is  experimental,  but  because,  without  reference 
to  ultimate  reality,  it  analyzes,  classifies  and  explains  con- 
scious experiences,  psychology  is  rightly  named  a  science. 

Two  conceptions  of  scientific  psychology  are  recognized 
by  modern  writers.  The  first  is  the  theory  of  psychology, 
as  study  of  succeeding  ideas  conditioned  by  physiological 
and  physical  facts.  The  most  consistent  upholders  of  the 
system  are  Miinsterberg,  Titchener,  and  a  group  of  recent 
German  writers,  of  whom  we  may  take  G.  E.  Miiller  and 
H.  Cornelius  as  types.  The  theory  is  clearly  allied  to 
associationism,  in  that  it  regards  experience  as  a  succes- 
sion of  ideas.  But  it  does  not,  like  associationism,  turn 
a  psychological  description  into  a  philosophical  doctrine 
by  attributing  any  permanence,  or  force,  or  revivability  to 
ideas.     Certain  upholders  of  the  modern  theory  make,  it 

1  Cf.  Chapter  I.,  p.  lo. 


The  MetJiods  of  Scientijic  Psychology      445 

is  true,  the  old  confusion  of  associationism  with  sensation- 
alism, teaching  that  the  succeeding  ideas  are  reducible  to 
purely  sensational  (or  to  sensational  and  affective)  ele- 
ments ;  but  others,  Meinong  ^  and  Cornelius,^  for  example, 
and,  first  of  them  all,  William  James,  teach  that  the  ana- 
lytic study  of  ideas  discloses  other  than  sensational  ele- 
ments—  the  feeUngs  of  one-ness,  of  difference,  of  likeness 
and  the  other  relational  elements. 

The  second  modern  tendency  is  as  closely  allied  with 
the  spiritualistic  doctrine.  It  is  the  conception,  expounded 
in  this  book,  of  psychology  as  the  study  of  a  conscious 
self  (regarded  as  fact,  not  as  metaphysical  reality)  in  com- 
plex relation  with  other  selves.  The  affiliation  of  this 
doctrine  with  spiritualistic  psychology,  such  as  Plato's  or 
Locke's,  is  obvious.  For  if  one  cease  thinking  of  the  soul 
as  possessed  of  a  shadowy  reality  other  than  self-conscious- 
ness,'^ then  at  once  the  '  soul '  of  the  earlier  conceptions 
turns  into  the  '  self,'  the  concrete,  particular  I  or  you, 
realized  by  every  one,  without  philosophical  reflection,  as 
a  fact  underlying  the  ideas.  Franz  Brentano,*  G.  F.  Stout,^ 
J.  M.  Baldwin  '^  and  Josiah  Royce,"  may  be  named  as 
writers  who  have  treated  psychology  as  a  study,  not  of 
ideas  but  of  conscious  selves. 

The  common  procedure,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  the 
confusion  of  the  two  points  of  view  and  the  vacillation 
from  one  method  to  another.  Wilhelm  Wundt,  G.  T.  Ladd, 
Harold  Hoffding  and  William  James  are  representatives  of 
this  tendency.  Wundt,  for  instance,  adds  to  his  analysis 
of  Vorstellujigcn  an  uncoordinated  doctrine  of  '  inner  activ- 
ity ' ;  and  James  oscillates,  without  explanation,  between  the 

i"Uber  Gegenstande  hoherer  Ordnung  u.  s.  w."  Ziuh.  f.  Psychol.  1899, 
Vol.  XXI.,  pp.  182-272. 

2  "  Psychologic  als  Erfahrungs  wissenschaft."  Leipzig,  1897.  Cf.  "  Ueber 
Gestaltqualitaten,"  Ztsch.,  Vol.  XXII.,  pp.  loi  seq. 

3  Cf.  p.  426.  4  «  Psychologie,"  1874. 
^"Analytic  Psychology."  ^  "Social  and  llthical  Interpretations." 
^Cf.    "Studies   in    Good   and    Evil,"   VI.,  VIII.  and  IX.;    "Imitation," 

Psychological  Review,  II.,  230. 


446  The  Methods  of  Psychology 

two  methods  of  regarding  consciousness,  now  as  a  '  stream  ' 
of  thoughts  or  a  succession  of  '  feehngs,'  and  again  as  a 
set  of  '  cognitive  functions  '  or  '  operations.'  j 

A  main  purpose  of  this  book  has  been  to  show  that 
both  these  conceptions  of  scientific  psychology  are  valid ; 
and  that  every  conscious  experience  may  be  regarded  from  1 

either  point  of  view :  as  mere  idea,  adequately  described 
when  it  is  analyzed  into  its  elements,  or  as  the  conscious 
experience  of  a  self,  to  be  treated  not  merely  as  a  complex 
of  structural  elements,  but  as  conscious  relation  of  a  self 
to  other  selves. 


APPENDIX 


SECTION    I 
STRUCTURE  AND  FUNCTION  OF  THE  NERVOUS  SYSTEM 


The  bodily  changes  most  closely  associated  with  phenomena 
of  consciousness  are  certainly  those  of  the  nervous  system.  It  is 
useful,  therefore,  as  introduction  to  strictly  psychological  study, 
to  consider,  in  brief  outline,  the  development,  the  structure  and 
the  function  of  the  nervous  system.^  The  embryonic  area  of  the 
human  ovum  becomes  differentiated  at  first  into  two  layers,  epi- 
blast  and  hypoblast,  between  which  a  third,  the  mesoblast,  is  later 
formed.  From  these  three  layers,  distinguished  by  the  form 
and  groupings  of  their  cells,  are  developed  all  the  parts  of  the 
animal  organism.  From  the  hypoblast  are  derived  the  epithelial 
linings  of  the  body;  from  the  mesoblast  ?<xt  formed  the  muscles, 
the  skeleton  and  the  vascular  system;  and  the  epiblast  is  the 
source  of  the  skin,  of  important  parts  of  the  sense-organs  and  of 
the  nervous  system.  Within  this  epiblast  (or  ecto- 
derm) there  very  early  appears  a  furrow  or  depres- 
sion, the  medullary  groove,  whose  thickened  wall 
soon  closes  upon  itself,  to  form  a  sort  of  hollow 
tube  which  later  develops  into  the  cerebro-spinal 
system.  The  lower  or  posterior  part  of  this  tube 
becomes  the  spinal  cord;  the  forward  part  is  the 
primitive  form  of  the  brain.  This  forward  part 
very  quickly  divides  itself  into  three  bulbs,  called 
the  first, the  second  and  the  third  cerebral  vesicles. 
These  cerebral  vesicles,  however,  undergo  such 
complicated  changes,  that  it  is  hard  to  recognize 
a  trace  of  them  in  the  developed  adult  brain.  The 
most  important  of  these  changes  will  be  briefly 
enumerated  and,  in  part,  illustrated,  without  the  attempt  to 
settle  the  difficult  question  of  their  order:  — 

First,  the  number  of  vesicles  increases  in  two  ways:  by  the 


Fig.  9. 


2G 


1  .See  Bibliography. 
449 


450 


Development  of  the  Brain 


Fig.  io. 


division  of  the  hind-brain  or  third  vesicle  so  as  to  form  two  parts 
(4  and  5  in  Figure  10) ;  and  by  the  outgrowth,  from  the  fore-brain 
or  first  vesicle,  of  two  more  vesicles,  side  by 
side  (H),  the  originals  of  the  cerebral  hemi- 
spheres. Second,  the  brain  is  bent  at  several 
points  in  a  ventral  or  forward  direction.  I'he 
most  important  of  these  points  are  the  forward 
part  of  the  fifth  vesicle  and  the  forward  part  of 
the  mid-brain  {x  and_>'  in  Figure  11).  Third, 
the  cerebral  hemispheres  expand  in  all  direc- 
tions, so  as  finally  to  cover  all  parts  except 
the  hind-brain,  folding  in  upon  themselves 
in  such  wise  as  to  form  what  we  know  as  fis- 
sures and  convolutions.  Fourth,  all  the  other 
vesicle-walls  (except  the  posterior  wall  of  the 
fifth  vesicle)  thicken  and  become  differenti- 
ated, first,  into  the  'basal  ganglia,'  or 
'interior  brain  ' — corpora  striata,  op- 
tic thalami  and  optic  lobes  —  distinct 
nerve-centres,  around  which  the  hemi- 
spheres fold ;  and  second,  into  the  ex- 
ternal parts  of  the  'lower  brain' :  the 
crura  cerebri,  two  bundles  of  up  and 
down  fibres,  the  pons,  a  band  of  trans- 
verse fibres  uniting  the  two  halves  of 
the  cerebellum,  and  the  medulla,  mainly 
a  continuation  of  the  crura.  The 
cranial  nerves,  also,  take  their  origin  in 
the  different  vesicles.  For  a  description  of  the  parts  of  the  brain, 
the  student  is  referred  to  the  text-books  on  physiology.  The 
following  is  a  list  of  the  most  important  of  them,  in  relation  to 
the  primitive  vesicles :  — 


HL 


Fig.  II. 


I.    First  Pri- 
mary Vesicle 


I.  Fore-brain 


r  Cerebral  hemispheres. 


Corpora  striata. 
Olfactory  bulb. 


2.  Inter-brairx  j  Optjc  thalami.   _ 

[  Optic  nerve  (primary  origin). 


II.    Second  Pri-  _ 
MARY  Vesicle 


3.  Mid-brain 


Corpora  quadrigemina  or  optic 
lobes  (posterior,  i.e.  dorsal, 
bodies). 

Crura  cerebri  (anterior  bodies). 

Optic  nerve  (secondary  origin). 


Nerve-cell  and  Ncrvc-Jibre  451 


III.    Third  Pri- 
mary Vesicle 


f  Cerebellum   (dorsal :    a  double 
\.   Hind-brain   :       growth  like  the  hemispheres). 
t  Pons  Varolii  (ventral). 


5- 


After-brain  ]  Medulla  oblongata. 
l^  Auditory  nerve. 


The  development  of  the  cerebral  hemispheres  is  the  change 
especially  characteristic  of  the  mammalian  brain;  and  the  bend- 
ing of  the  brain  is  the  mark  of  the  higher  \ertebrate.  1  he  thick- 
ening of  the  vesicle  walls,  on  the  other  hand,  is  quite  as  noticeable 
in  lower  forms  of  animal  life.  Birds,  for  instance,  in  whom  the 
thin  and  undeveloped  'pallium'  takes  the  place  of  the  hemispheres, 
have  cerebella  and  optic  lobes  far  larger,  relatively,  than  those 
of  the  human  brain. 

This  will  serve  as  an  introductory  account,  from  the  standpoint 
of  development,  of  the  cerebro-spinal  nerve-centres  in  their  super- 
ficial aspect.  There  are,  besides,  certain  smaller  nerve-centres, 
both  the  so-called  sporadic  ganglia  and  —  more  important—  the 
sympathetic  nerve-system  connected  with  the  blood-vessels  and 
viscera  of  chest  and  of  abdomen.  These,  however,  maybe  passed 
by  with  mere  mention,  since  their  activity  is  seldom  or  never 
accompanied  by  consciousness.  Nerve-centres  consist  of  nerve- 
cells,  nerve-fibres,  connective  tissue  and  blood-vessels.  As  they 
leave  the  great  nerve-centres,  the  nerve-fibres  are  massed  together 
into  nerve-trunks,  but  these  break  up  into  smaller  and  smaller 
branches,  terminating  finally  in  the  end-organs  of  eye,  ear,  nose 
and  so  on,  and  in  the  muscles  of  head,  trunk,  limbs  and  inner 
organs.  There  is  thus  no  part  of  the  human  body  to  which  these 
fibres  do  not  radiate  from  the  nerve-centres. 

The  nature  of  these  two  main  forms  of  nerve-substance  must 
now  be  more  closely  studied.  A  nerve-cell  is  a  mass  of  pioto- 
plasm,  grayish  in  color;  it  contains  a  nucleus,  branches  out  into 
several  processes  and  is  embedded  in  a  connective  substance, 
named  neuroglia.  The  nerve-fibres  are,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
elongated  processes  of  nerve-cells;  they  are  of  two  sorts,  non- 
medullated  and  grayish  in  color,  like  the  nerve-centres;  and 
medullated,  that  is,  enclosed  in  an  albuminous  white  covering, 
the  medullary  sheath.  The  gray,  non-medullated  fibres  are  most 
frequent  in  the  centres  and  in  the  sympathetic  system;  the  medul- 
lated fibres  are  found  on  the  outer  circumference  of  the  spinal 
cord  and,  generally  speaking,  in  the  interior  of  the  brain.  The 
gray  and  the  white  matter,  though  differing  in  chemical  constitu- 
tion, are  both  significant  in  containing  certain  highly  unstable 


452  Functions  of  Nerve-substance 

phosphorized  fats.  These  bring  about  the  chemically  sensitive 
condition  of  nerve-substance,  whose  energy  is  readily  yielded 
when  the  equilibrium  of  its  molecules  is  disturbed. 

This  leads  us  to  a  study  of  the  functions  of  nervous  substance. 
Let  us  recall  that  the  human  body  is  an  organized  system  of 
physiological  phenomena,  in  constant  and  regular  succession. 
This  quick  succession,  or  transformation,  is  perhaps  the  most 
noticeable  feature  of  the  animal  body.  Constant  chemical  changes 
are  involved  in  respiration  and  in  nutrition,  and  innumerable 
muscular  changes  are  facilitated  by  the  anatomical  flexibility  of 
the  human  skeleton,  with  its  more  than  two  hundred  bones  and 
its  easily  moving  pivot  and  ball-and-socket  joints.  Now  the 
nervous  structures  of  the  body  form  a  system,  within  a  system,  of 
extraordinarily  shifting  and  rapidly  changing  phenomena.  Not 
only  the  instability  of  their  chemical  constitution,  but  their  dis- 
tribution and  arrangement  in  the  body,  bring  about  this  result. 
With  nerve-fibres  radiating  from  spinal  and  from  cerebral  centres, 
some  organ  of  the  nervous  system  is,  in  the  first  place,  affected  by 
every  stimulus,  external  or  internal,  to  any  part  of  the  body;  and 
on  the  other  hand,  every  change  within  the  nervous  system  com- 
municates itself  to  the  other  organs.  All  this  maybe  summed  up 
in  the  statement  that  the  nervous  system  constitutes  the  most 
excitable  and  the  most  excitory  part  of  the  organism.  But  the 
functions  of  nerve-centre  and  fibre  may  be  distinguished  from 
each  other.  The  latter  serves  for  the  conduction  of  the  'nerve- 
impulse  '  or  excitation;  the  nerve-centre,  on  the  other  hand, 
effects  the  redistribution  of  impulses.  Nerve-fibres  are  classified 
as  (i)  afferent,  or  ingoing,  those  which  convey  to  the  centre  the 
impulse  communicated  by  some  stimulus  and  (2)  efferent,  or 
outgoing,  those  which  convey  a  nerve- impulse  downward  or  out- 
ward from  a  nerve-centre.  So,  for  example,  I  touch  an  icy 
surface;  the  end-organs  in  the  skin  of  my  hand  are  thermally 
stimulated,  and  communicate  the  excitation  to  an  afferent  nerve; 
this  conveys  the  impulse  to  a  spinal  centre,  where  it  is  redis- 
tributed and  communicated  to  an  efferent  nerve ;  and  this  is  con- 
nected with  a  muscle  whose  functioning  causes  the  withdrawal  of 
my  hand. 

We  may  now  describe,  in  greater  detail,  the  functions  of  the 
different  parts  of  the  cerebro- spinal  system.  Spine  and  brain,  it 
must  be  remembered,  are  made  up  both  of  nerve-centres  and  of 
nerve-fibres,  and  therefore  serve  a  double  purpose,  of  conduction 
and  of  redistribution.  The  spinal  cord  consists  of  a  grayish 
interior,   chiefly  composed  of   nerve-centres,  surrounded  by  an 


Fimctions  of  Spinal  Cord  and  of  Brain     453 


outer,  white  part  made  up  of  medullated  nerve-fibres.  These 
nerve-fibres  run  inward  and  outward,  to  and  from  the  muscles  and 
surfaces  of  trunk  and  limbs,  and  also  upward  and  downward  to  and 
from  the  brain.  A  large  number  of  these  fibres  cross,  in  the  lower 
brain,  from  the  right  side  of  the  cord  to  the  left  side  of  the  brain, 
and  vice  versa;  and  it  follows  that  the  stimulation  of  one  side  of 
the  body  affects  the  cerebral  hemisphere  of  the  opposite  side.^ 

When  an  excitation  is  transmitted  by  an  afferent  nerve  to  the 
spinal  cord,  it  may  either  be  immediately  redistributed  by  the 
spinal  nerve-centres  to  an  efferent  nerve, 
or  it  may  be  transmitted  along  one  of  the 
upward  fibres  to  a  redistributing  centre 
in  the  brain.  This  is  illustrated  by  the 
accompanying  diagram,  in  which  the  lines 
a-b-c  and  a-x-d-y-c  represent  respectively 
a  given  nervous  impulse  redistributed  in 
a  spinal  centre,  and  the  same  impulse 
transmitted  to  a  cerebral  centre.  It  will 
be  observed  that  the  stimulus  to  the  in- 
goingnerve  {ax)  and  the  bodily  movement 
excited  by  the  outgoing  nerve  (ir)  are, 
in  both  cases,  the  same;  but  there  are  two 
important  distinctions  between  the  spinal 
and  the  cerebral  reaction.  Obviously, 
the  spinal  reaction  follows  more  swiftly 
upon  the  stimulus,  and  it  is,  further- 
more, unaccompanied  by  consciousness. 
This  last  important  fact  has  been  estab- 
lished by  the  experimental  observation 
that  unconscious  movements  of  a  limb,  in  response  to  stimulation 
of  the  skin,  occur  after  such  injury  to  the  spinal  cord  as  prevents 
transmission  of  excitation  to  the  brain.  The  spinal  cord  is  thus, 
first,  a  centre  for  unconscious  reflex  movements  from  cutaneous 
stimulation,  and  second,  a  transmitter  of  excitations  to  the  brain. 

Within  the  brain  itself,  we  may  also  distinguish  the  functions 
of  its  different  parts.  For  our  present  purpose,  we  shall  regard 
it  as  divided  into  (i)  lower  brain  (medulla,  cerebellum,  pons 
and  crura),  (2)  interior-brain  (the  basal  nerve-centres  enclosed 
within  the  hemispheres),  and  (3)  the  hemispheres  themselves. 
Lower  brain  and  interior  brain  consist  of  nerve-centres,  connected 
among  themselves  by  transverse  fibres,  and  penetrated  also  by 
upward  and  downward  fibres,  connecting  them,  as  the  diagram 


Fig.  12. 


1  Cf.  Fig.  13,  p.  454. 


454     Functions  of  Spinal  Cord  a7id  of  Brain 

suggests,  with  the  spinal  centres  and  with  the  hemispheres.  They 
therefore  transmit  to  the  hemispheres  excitations  originated  in 
lower  portions  of  the  body,  and  they  are  also  centres  for  the 
redistribution  both  of  nervous  impulses,  transmitted  by  the 
spinal  cord,  and  of  excitations  conducted  to  them  directly  by 
the  facial  nerves  and  by  the  nerves  of  the  special  senses.     In  one 


Fig.    13.  —  Schematic,  transverse  section  of  the  brain  through  the  Rolandic  region. 
5,  fissure  of  Sylvius;  N.C.  and  N.L.,  parts  of  a  corpus  striatum;    O.T.,  optic 
—  thalamus;     C,   one  of  the   crura;    M,  medulla   oblongata;    VII.,   the   facial 
nerves. 


centre  of  the  lower  brain 
centres,  masses  of  cells 
interior  of  the  body  and 
the  heart-beat,  breathing 
also,  are  connected  with 
It  is  a  moot  question  \v 
the  functioning  of  these  ' 


(the  medulla),  there  are  also  automatic 
which  coordinate  excitations  from  the 
regulate  such  automatic   movements  as 

and  sneezing.      (The  two  hemispheres, 
each  other  by  transverse  fibres.) 
hether  sense-consciousness  accompanies 
lower  and  interior  centres.     The  proba- 


Functions  of  the  Cerebral  Hemispheres     455 


bility,^  however,  is  that  in  the  case  of  the  lower  vertebrates,  with 
less  developed  hemispheres,  the  excitation  of  lower  and  of  interior 
brain  is  accompanied  by  consciousness,  and  that,  on  the  contrary, 
excitation  of  the  hemispheres  is  necessary  to  human  conscious- 
ness. It  is  certain  that  excitation  of  the  hemispheres  is  the 
essential  cerebral  condition  of  memory  and  of  foresight.  The 
bodily  movements  characteristic  of  cerebral  activity  are,  there- 
fore, no  longer  the  unconscious 
reflexes  of  the  spinal  cord  nor 
even  acts  of  which  one  has  a  bare 
sense-perception;  they  are  delib- 
erative acts  performed  with  a  mem- 
ory of  past  results  and  an  imnge  of 
future  happenings.  It  follows  that 
the  response  to  a  particular  stimu- 
lation is  not,  as  in  the  case  of  a 
spinal  reflex,  inevitable  and  deter- 
mined. We  may  illustrate  this  by 
a  modification  of  our  former  ex- 
ample. The  unconscious  spinal 
reflex  following  upon  the  touch 
of  a  hot  surface  is  the  withdrawal 
of  the  hand.  Suppose,  however, 
that  the  stimulus  conducted  by  the 
afferent  nerve  {a-b^  is  transmitted 
to  the  hemispheres  instead  of 
being  at  once  redistributed  in  the 
spinal  centres.  The  centre  id), 
corresponding  with  the  sensation 
of  warmth,  is  first  stimulated,  but 
the  impulse  is  at  once  transmitted 
to  other  brain-centres  {x  and  y) 
and  the  total  hemisphere  excita- 
tion is  accompanied  by  the  conscious  reflection  that  a  hot  appli- 
cation will  cure  neuralgiac  pain.  The  efferent  nerve  (e-f),  which 
is  finally  stimulated,  in  turn  excites  a  muscle  whose  contraction 
checks  the  instinctive  movement  away  from  the  hot  surface. 
Thus  the  motor  response  {f-f-f:;),  to  the  excitation  transmitted  to 
the  hemispheres,  is  a  firmer  grasp  of  the  heated  object,  whereas 
the  instinctive  spinal  reflex  (a-b-c)  would  consist,  as  we  have 
seen,  in  the  withdrawal  of  the  hand.  The  following  table  sum- 
marizes these  distinctions  of  bodily  activity  and  consciousness, 
as  associated  with  different  nerve-centres:  — 


Fio.  14. 


*  H.  Donaldson,  Anicrican  Journal  of  PsychoIoi:;y,  Vol.  IV. 


456     Functions  of  Spinal  Cord  and  of  Brain 


Organ. 
Spinal  cord. 

Lower  brain. 


Function. 

Conduction, 
Redistribution. 

Conduction, 
Redistribution. 


Activity. 

Cutaneous 
reflex. 


Automatic. 


No  conscious- 
ness. 

No  conscious- 
ness. 


Interior  brain.     |  g°"'^"'^.^'°"'  „ 
[^  Redistribution. 

Cerebral  hemi-       Redistribution, 
spheres. 


„       .  ,      a  Sense-conscious- 

Special-reflex.  ^^^^  ^..^ 


Deliberative. 


[  Perception, 

-1  Memory, 

L  Thought,  etc. 


It  is  possible  to  study,  in  even  greater  detail,  the  relation  of 
the  excitation  of  the  hemisphere  to  different  functions  of  con- 
sciousness. For  this  purpose,  it  is  necessary  to  gain  a  clearer 
notion  of  the  conformation  of  the  hemispheres.  It  has  been 
shown  already  that  the  immense  expansion  of  each  hemisphere 


Fig.  15. 


'^A  L       L  0  B  C 
-Outer  Surface  of  the  Right  Hemisphere. 


results  in  a  folding  of  its  surface  in  upon  itself.  Each  hemi- 
sphere thus  consists  of  an  irregular  mass  of  folds,  the  convolu- 
tions, separated  by  deep  gullies,  the  fissures.  The  most  important 
of  these  appear  very  early  in  the  growth  of  each  embryonic 
hemisphere,  on  its  outer  surface.  They  are  the  fissure  of  Sylvius, 
which  starts  from  a  point  below  and  in  front  of  the  middle  of  each 


C-s 


Coiiforniation  of  the  Cerebral  Hemispheres     457 


hemisphere  (cf.  Figure  15),  and  runs  backward,  curving  upward 
at  its  termination;  and  the  fissure  of  Rolando,  which  runs  down- 
ward and  forward,  from  the  median,  upper  part  of  each  hemi- 
sphere (cf.  Figure  15)  to  a  point  near  to  that  where  the  fissure  of 
Sylvius  begins.  These  fissures  and  others  form  the  basis  of  the 
ordinary  division  of  the  hemisphere  into  five  areas,  or  lobes. 
Roughly  speaking,  the  frontal  lobe  lies  forward  of  the  fissure  of 
Rolando  and  above  the  fissure  of  Sylvius;  the  parietal  lobe  lies 
back  of  the  frontal,  and  also  above  the  fissure  of  Sylvius;  the 
occipital  lobe  lies  behind  the  parietal,  and  is  separated  from  it 
by  a  fissure  which  appears  most  definitely  on  the  median  side  of 
the  hemisphere;  and  the  temporal  lobe  lies  below  the  fissure  of 


o    B^ 


T.  'Rolando 


Fig.  16.  —  Median  Surface  of  the  Right  Hemisphere. 

Sylvius  and  forward  of  the  occipital  lobe.  fThe  fifth  lobe,  the 
'island  of-Reil,'  is  folded  in  within  the  temporal  and  the  parietal 
lobes,  and  is  not  represented  in  the  diagram.)  On  the  median 
surface  of  the  hemisphere  id.  Figure  16),  it  is  important  to  dis- 
tinguish, first,  the  triangular  area  of  the  occipital  lobe,  called 
from  its  wedge  shape  the  ciineus ;  second,  the  convolution  along 
the  upper  edge,  called  'marginal';  and  finally,  the  curving 
convolution,   called  the  unciiiaie  (or  hippocampus^. 

The  study  of  brain  areas  is  important  to  the  psychologist  only 
for  the  following  reason:  investigation  has  shown  that  the  excita- 
tion of  certain  parts  of  the  brain  is  accompanied  by  definite  forms 
of  sense-consciousness  and  of  bodily  movement.  There  is  much 
dispute,  among  the  anatomists,  about  special  features  of  cere- 


458 


Cerebral  Localization 


bral  localization,  but  the  following  results  may  be  accepted  as 
practically  assured :  — 

The  excitation  of  the  occipital  lobe,  especially  of  that  portion 
of  its  median  surface  known  as  the  cuneus  (cf.  Figure  i6),  is  the 
cerebral  'centre'  of  the  visual  perception  of  the  different  colors 
and  shades,  and  is  the  centre,  also,  of  movements  of  the  eye- 
muscles.^  Nerve-fibres  connect  the  right  halves  of  both  retinse 
with  this  visual  centre  in  the  right  hemisphere,  and  the  left 
halves  of  both  retinae  with  the  left  visual  centre. 

The  area  forward  and  back  of  the  fissure  of  Rolando  is  the 
so-called  'centre  '  of  cutaneous  sensation  and  of  general  bodily 
movements.     The  excitation  of  the  lower  part  of  it  is  accom- 


Oc.LI 


Ft.L 


panied  by  the  perception  of  contact  with  the  skin  of  head  and 
face,  and  by  movements  of  the  head;  the  excitation  of  the  next 
higher  portion  conditions  the  skin- sensations  and  the  movement 
of  the  arms,  and  so  on,  so  that  the  very  highest  part  of  the 
Rolandic  area  is  the  cerebral  'centre  '  both  of  the  skin-sensations 
and  of  the  movements  of  the  feet. 

The  centre  of  hearing  is  the  first  temporal  convolution;  the 
smell-centre  and,  possibly,  the  taste-centre  are  in  the  uncinate 
convolution  of  the  median  temporal  lobe  (cf.  Figure  i6).  These 
are  centres  also  for  movements  of  ear,  nostrils  and  tongue.  The 
following  summary  of  the  sensory  centres  in  the  hemispheres 
combines  these  results:  — 

1  Cf.  Donaldson,  Americnn  Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  121 ;  Flech- 
sig,  "Gchiin  und  Seek,"  2d  edition,  1896,  p.  77. 


Cerebral  Localization 


459 


Areas. 
Occipital  lobe. 

Area  about  fissure 
of  Rolando. 

Temporal  lobe. 


Conscious  Phenomena.    Bodily  Movements. 


Of  vision. 

Of  cutaneous  and 
'  motor '  sensations. 

\  hearing, 
Of-;  smell, 

I  taste  ? 


Of  eye-muscles. 

[  head, 
Of  ;^runk, 
L  limbs. 

rear, 
Of;  nostrils, 
t  tongue? 


It  will  be  observed  that  this  enumeration  leaves  large  areas  of 
the  hemispheres  without  assigned  function.  The  recent  researches 
of  a  German  physiologist,  Paul  Hechsig,  have  made  it  very  prob- 
able that  these  areas  are  the  centres  of  unsensational  experiences, 
the  consciousness  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness,  of  similarity 
and  difference,  of  familiarity  and  of  connection.  The  'association- 
centres,'  as  Flechsig  calls  them,^  are  included  in  the  unnamed 
parts  of  Figure  17.  They  are  distinguished,  anatomically,  from 
the  sense-centres  of  the  hemispheres,  because  they  are  not  directly 
connected,  by  afferent  and  efferent  nerves,  with  any  end-organs 
on  the  surface  of  the  body.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  connected 
by  transverse  "fibres  with  the  sense-centres,  and  are  only  indirectly 
stimulated  by  the  excitation  of  these  sense-centres.  Flechsig  has 
also  distinguished  'intermediate  '  centres  between  the  other  two.'^ 

II 

There  are  three  methods  of  this  study  of  cerebral  localization : 
the  experimental,  the  pathological  and  the  embryological  methods. 
The  first  of  these  proceeds  upon  two  lines.  A  given  area  of  the 
brain  of  an  animal  is  artificially  stimulated,  —by  electricity,  for 
example,  — the  resulting  bodily  movements  are  watched,  and  the 
accompanying  consciousness  is  inferred.  Or,  the  particular  brain- 
area  is  extirpated  and  the  resulting  loss  of  function  is  carefully 
studied.  For  example,  a  dog's  Rolandic  region  is  removed,  and 
the  discovery  is  made  that  he  does  not  draw  back  his  paw  if  one 
pinches  it,  and  that  he  leaves  it  unconcernedly  in  boiling  water. 

The  experimental  method,  of  course,  encounters  the  objection 
that  the  functioning  of  the  animal  brain  may  not  correspond 
exactly  with  that  of  the  human  brain.  This  difficulty  is  avoided 
by  the  pathological  method,  the  careful  study,  after  death,  of  the 
brains  of  patients  who  have  suffered  from  diseases  affecting  con- 
sciousness.    The  discovery,  for  example,   of  injury  to  the  left 


J  "  Gehirn  und  Seele,"  pp.  24,  78. 


2  Neurolog.  Centralblatt,  Nov.,  1898. 


460     Weight  a?id  Circumference  of  the  Brain 

occipital  lobe,  of  persons  who  have  lost  the  left  half  of  their 
field  of  vision,  has  contributed  to  the  knowledge  of  the  relation 
of  that  part  of  the  brain  to  visual  consciousness. 

The  embryological  method,  finally,  employed  with  great  effi- 
ciency by  Flechsig,  studies  the  human  brain  at  various  stages  preced- 
ing its  complete  development,  distinguishing  the  periods  at  which 
one  sense-centre  after  another,  and,  latest  of  all,  the  association- 
centres  and  the  transverse  fibres,  reach  their  complete  development. 

In  conclusion,  the  student  should  be  reminded  that  any  defi- 
nite explanation  of  individual  psychical  characteristics,  by  dis- 
coverable peculiarities  of  the  brain,  has,  up  to  this  time,  eluded 
every  investigator.  The  weight  of  the  brain,  for  example,  has 
seemed  to  some  anatomists  an  indication  of  intellect,  but  though 
the  brain  of  Cuvier  weighed  1830  gr.,  that  of  Gambetta  weighed 
only  1294  gr.,  and  that  of  Liebig  1352  gr.,  as  compared  with  an 
average  of  1340;  and  the  heaviest  brain  on  record  belonged  to  a 
perfectly  commonplace  individual.  Between  circumference  of 
brain  and  strength  of  intellect  there  is  also  no  observable  connec- 
tion. The  most  recent  and  most  accurate  examinations  of  par- 
ticular brains  confirm  this  general  conclusion;  to  the  surprise  of 
everybody,  for  example,  the  accurate  microscopic  examination 
of  Laura  Bridgman's  brain  disclosed  no  describable  defects  in  the 
visual  areas;  and  Dr.  Hansemann,^  who  has  recently  examined 
the  brain  of  the  great  scientist  Helmholtz,  observes  that  it  is  not 
extraordinarily  developed. 

The  basal  conclusions  which  emerge  for  the  psychologist,  from 
all  this  study  of  the  nervous  system,  are,  therefore,  the  following: 
every  fact  of  consciousness,  every  percept,  image,  thought,  emo- 
tion or  volition  is  first  necessarily  related  to  a  neural  phenome- 
non, that  is,  to  some  functioning  of  the  nervous  system,  and  is, 
therefore,  second,  accompanied  by  some  other  bodily  change  or 
changes,  mechanical,  chemical  or  thermal;  and  these  changes 
may  be  either  conscious  or  unconscious. 

SECTION    II 

APHASIA 

The  study  of  aphasia  is  important  to  physiologist  and  to  psy- 
chologist alike.  Defects  in  the  word-consciousness  are  detected 
and  analyzed  with  relative  ease,  and  the  discovery  of  the  cor- 
responding areas  of  brain  injury  has  made  it  possible  to  suggest 
the  special  centres  whose  excitation  conditions  visual,  auditory 
or  tactile-motor  consciousness.     On  the  other  hand,  the  study  of 

1  Hansemann,  Zeitschrifi,  1899,  ^o^-  ^^* 


Aphasia  46 1 

the  brain  conditions  has  stimulated  and  verified  the  psychologi- 
cal analysis  of  the  word-consciousness. 

Aphasia  is  the  general  name  for  diseased  conditions  of  the 
brain,  which  affect  the  patient's  consciousness  of  words.  In 
sensory  aphasia,  the  subject's  hearing  or  reading  of  words  is 
affected;  in  motor  aphasia,  he  is  unable  to  speak  or  to  write. 
In  either  case,  he  may  or  may  not  know  the  meaning  of  words. 
The  patient's  speech,  for  example,  may  be  unaffected,  and  he 
may  read  perfectly,  yet  spoken  words  may  seem  to  him  like  mere 
inarticulate  sounds;  or  he  may  hear  words  and  even  understand 
them,  he  may  speak  and  write,  and  he  may  yet  be  unable  to  read 
printed  and  written  words,  even  those  which  he  himself  has 
written.  These  forms  of  sensory  aphasia  are  named  word-deaf- 
ness and  alexia  respectively.  Motor  aphasia,  also,  has  two  main 
forms,  inability  to  speak  and  to  write.  The  latter  is  called  agra- 
phia, and  the  former  is  rather  ambiguously  named  pure  motor 
aphasia.  In  agraphia,  the  patient  reads  and  speaks  understand- 
ingly;  he  can  even  read  what  he  himself  has  earlier  written,  but 
he  cannot  write.  In  pure  motor  aphasia,  a  man  understands 
what  is  said  to  him,  reads  printed  and  written  words,  and  can 
even  write,  but  his  speech  is  more  or  less  seriously  disturbed. 
He  can  laugh,  cry  and  sing;  but  either  he  misuses  words,  one  in 
place  of  another,  or  he  has  no  words  at  all,  or  he  speaks  inco- 
herently, in  what  has  been  called  a  broth  of  unintelligible  sylla- 
bles. He  may  recognize  his  mistakes  and  be  tormented  by  them, 
but  he  cannot  avoid  them.  Sometimes  it  happens  that  the  in- 
ability to  speak  affects  only  objects  of  a  certain  sense-class.  For 
example,  a  man  may  be  able  to  name  the  visual  and  tactile  quali- 
ties of  an  object,  but  unable  to  name  sounds  of  any  kind;  or  he 
may  be  able  to  name  colors  and  sounds  but  not  tactile  qualities: 
pure  motor  aphasia  is  known  as  acoustic,  tactile  or  optical, 
according  as  it  affects  one  class  of  sensations  or  another. 

All  these  cases  of  merely  sensory  and  motor  word-disturbance 
must  be  contrasted,  finally,  with  the  most  serious  form  of  aphasia: 
the  inability  to  understand  words,  or  mental  blindness  {See/en- 
l?/indheif),  as  it  is  named  from  one  form  of  it.  In  this  cdse,  the 
patient  hears  the  word  as  a  word  and  repeats  it,  but  does  not 
know  its  meaning;  he  reads  aloud  and  writes,  but  does  not 
understand  what  he  reads  and  writes  because  his  verbal  images 
do  not  suggest  the  concrete  images  which  make  up  what  we  call 
the  meaning  of  the  word. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  aphasia  is  due  to  cerebral  disease, 
not  to  any  injury  of  end-organs  or  of  muscular  apparatus.      In 


462  Aphasia 

word-deafness,  or  auditory  sense  aphasia,  for  instance,  the  patient 
is  not  deaf:  he  hears  as  distinctly  as  ever  he  did,  and  he  even 
hears  the  words  that  are  spol^en  to  him,  only  he  hears  them  not 
as  words,  conventional  expressions  of  some  meaning,  —  under- 
stood or  not,  —  but  as  mere  sounds.  A  spoken  sentence  seems  to 
him  a  mere  succession  of  mixed  tones  and  noises.  And  pure 
motor  aphasia,  the  inability  to  speak,  occurs  without  loss  of  voice 
or  paralysis  of  lip  or  of  tongue. 

We  must  therefore  ask  for  the  cerebral  conditions  of  the  dif- 
ferent forms  of  aphasia.  These  have  been  discovered,  by  the 
study  of  the  brains  of  aphasic  patients,  after  their  death,  and 
certain  definite  conclusions  have  been  reached  by  such  study. 
Neurologists  agree,  in  the  first  place,  that  disturbances  of  speech 
are  conditioned  by  diseased  states  of  the  left  side  of  the  brain  — 
in  left-handed  people,  of  the  right  side.  The  conditions  of 
aphasia  are,  however,  known  in  more  detail.  Broca  found,  in 
1861,  that  injury  to  the  third  or  lowest  frontal  convolution  (the 
area  marked  'speech'  on  the  diagram  of  page  458)  accompanies 
pure  motor  aphasia,  that  is,  the  inability  to  speak.  Some  years 
later,  another  neurologist,  Wernicke,  discovered  that  injury  to 
the  first  and  second  temporal  convolution  accompanied  cases 
of  word-deafness.  These  discoveries,  substantiated  by  many 
students  of  aphasia,  have  constituted  an  important  argument 
for  the  localization  of  hearing-centres  and  tactile-motor  cen- 
tres, in  the  temporal  lobe  and  the  lower  Roland ic  area  respec- 
tively. 

The  specific  areas  for  the  two  diseases  concerned  with  written 
language,  alexia  and  agraphia,  are  in  the  throat  and  the  hand 
areas  of  the  Rolandic  region.  It  has,  furthermore,  been  abun- 
dantly ^  established  that  word-blindness,  or  the  loss  of  the  mean- 
ing of  words,  is  due,  not  to  the  derangement  of  articulatory  or 
word-hearing  centre,  but  rather  to  the  loss  of  connection  between 
such  word-centres  and  the  visual,  auditory  or  tactile  centres  of 
concrete  images.  The  man  who  is  unable  to  tell  the  meaning  of 
the  word  'brush  '  — though  he  writes  and  articulates  the  word  and 
rightly  uses  the  object  —  no  longer  associates  the  motor  or  visual 
image  of  the  act  of  brushing,  with  the  sight  of  the  word.  This 
absence  of  the  habitual  association  may  be  due  either  to  the 
injury  of  visual  or  motor  centres,  or  to  injury  of  the  fibres  con- 
necting word-centre  with  other  centre.  Normally,  the  articu- 
lation-centre is  closely  connected  with  the  brain-centres  for 
concrete  imagery;  but  sometimes  the  connection  is  utterly 
broken,   and   again   it   is  curiously  altered.      Dr.   Sommer,   for 

1  Cf.  Flechsig,  "  Gehirn  und  Seek,"  pp.  44  seq. ;  James,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  54  seq. 


Aphasia  463 

example,  tells  the  story'  of  a  patient  tested  for  pure  motor 
aphasia,  who  seemed  to  recover  from  his  inability  to  name 
objects,  in  an  inexplicably  short  time.  Objects  which,  a  few 
hours  before,  he  had  been  unable  to  name,  he  now  identified 
with  only  a  slight  hesitation.  This  surprising  facility  was,  how- 
ever, explained  by  the  discovery  that  the  man  was  tracing  the 
names  of  the  objects,  with  his  finger  tip,  on  some  convenient 
surface.  His  hands  were  then  held,  but  he  was  detected  tracing 
the  names,  with  the  toe  of  his  boot,  on  the  ground;  his  feet  were 
secured,  and  a  facial  contortion  betrayed  that  he  was  writing  the 
words,  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  on  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  The 
sight  of  an  object  evidently  no  longer  suggested  the  appropriate 
throat-sensation  and  motions,  but  did  suggest  the  act  of  writing, 
that  is  to  say,  the  cerebral  connection  was  broken  between  brain- 
centre  for  the  concrete  visual  image  of  an  object  and  brain- 
centre  for  the  visual  word-image,  whereas  the  connection  between 
concrete  image  centre  and  writing  centre  was  unimpaired. 

It  is  evident,  from  our  former  study  of  the  diversity  in  people's 
imagination-types,  that  verbal  images  and  percepts  difter  with 
different  persons.  For  almost  everybody,  however,  the  verbal 
image  includes  at  least  two  parts:  the  sound  of  the  word  as  heard, 
and  the  consciousness  of  articulating  the  word.  Even  when  we 
merely  listen  and  do  not  actually  speak  aloud,  there  is  for  most 
of  us  a  slight  excitation  of  the  sense-cells  in  the  articulation- 
centre.  This  shows  the  importance  of  the  Broca  and  Wernicke 
centres,  and  it  indicates  also  that  the  Broca  centre  in  the  lower 
frontal  convolution  is  not  merely  a  motor  centre,  in  other  words, 
that  it  is  not  concerned  merely  in  the  use  of  speech,  but  that  it 
is  a  sense-centre  as  well,  excited  during  the  word- consciousness 
of  persons  of  the  tactile-motor  image-type.  But  language,  by  an 
educated  person,  is  read  and  written  as  well  as  spoken  and  heard. 
The  word-sound  often,  therefore,  suggests  the  image  of  the  written 
or  printed  word,  and  it  may  suggest  the  movement  of  writing. 
The  complete  percept  of  a  spoken  word  must,  thus,  include 
fused  elements  of  sound  and  articulation  (through  actual,  periph- 
eral excitation  of  ear  and  pharynx)  and  assimilated  elements, 
both  visual  and  tactual,  through  the  imaged  appearance  of  the 
word  and  the  imagined  act  of  writing  it;  and  of  course  this 
means  that,  not  merely  the  Wernicke  auditory  word-centre  in 
the  temporal  lobe,  but  visual  and  tactile  areas  are  excited,  in  the 
complete  consciousness  of  a  word  as  word,  irrespective  of  any 
consciousness  of  its  meaning.^ 

1  Zeitschrift  fill-  Physiologie  tind  Psychologic,  II.,  1891,  p.  143. 

2  Cf.  Flechsig,  op.  cit.,  p.  46. 


464  Sensational  Elements  of  Color 


SECTION    III 

SENSATIONAL  ELEMENTS    OF    COLOR    AND    COLORLESS 

LIGHT 

I.   Theories 

The  outline  of  color-theories,  as  given  in  the  second  chapter 
of  this  book,  must  be  greatly  amplified,  if  it  is  to  be  at  all  com- 
mensurate with  the  sweep  of  modern  discussions  and  investiga- 
tions. The  earliest  of  the  hypotheses  which  are  at  present  upheld 
is  that  of  Thomas  Young  and  Hermann  von  Helmholtz.  This 
theory  teaches,  as  we  know,  that  there  are  three  elemental  colors, 
red,  green  and  violet,  and  that  colorless  light  sensations  are 
always  occasioned  by  the  mixture  of  colored  lights.^  1  he  con- 
clusive objections  to  this  theory  are,  as  has  been  noted,  the  dis- 
tinctness of  yellow  as  an  elemental  experience  and  the  occurrence 
of  colorless  light  consciousness  without  mixture  of  stimuli.  The 
Hering  theory  of  antagonistic  color-processes,  assimilative  and 
dissimilative,  meets  these  objections,  but  runs  upon  other  diffi- 
culties. These  difficulties  must  be  carefully  considered,  since 
they  form  a  starting-point  for  the  study  of  other  theories.  They 
are,  in  the  main,  the  following:^  (i)  It  is  highly  improbable  that 
an  assimilative  bodily  process  should  condition  consciousness. 
(2)  It  is  inconsistent  to  suppose  that  the  simultaneous  occurrence 
of  opposite  color-processes  balance  each  other,  and  result  in  an 
absence  of  color-consciousness,  whereas  the  opposite  processes  of 
the  black-white  substance,  if  excited  together,  occasion  the  con- 
sciousness of  gray.  (3)  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  mixture  of  red  and 
green  lights  does  not,  as  Hering  implies,  occasion  colorless 
light  sensation.  On  the  contrary,  the  color-stimulus  which,  mixed 
with  red  light,  produces  a  colorless  light  sensation,  is  blue-green. 
This  showsthat  the  red  and  green  which  are  psychically  elemental 
are  not  physiologically  antagonistic. 

An  answer  to  certain  of  these  objections  is  found  in  Professor 
G.  E.  Mailer's  recent  modification  of  the  Hering  theory.**  Miiller 
replaces  the  conception  of  assimilation  and  dissimilation  by  a 
hypothesis  of  reversible  chemical  action,  which  meets  the  first  of 

1  "  Handhuch  der  Phvsiologischen  Optik,"  2'"  Aufi.,  1896,  §§  19,  20,  pp. 
275  seq.,  316  seq.  This  is  the  most  reasonaljle  statement  of  the  theory.  But 
Helmholtz  upholds  it  in  a  far  more  indefensible  way,  teaching  that  a  mixture 
of  color  sensations  gives  the  sensation  of  colorless  light  {op.  cit.,  p.  550).  This 
is  introspectively  untrue.  ^  Cf.  p.  39. 

=*  Ztsch.  /.  Psych,  n.  Phvsiol.  d.  Sinntsorgane,  1896  and  1897,  X.  and  XIV., 
esp.  §§  7,  18,  1Z,  36.     Cf.'C.  L.  Franklin,  Psychological  Review,  Vol.  VL,  p.  70. 


The  Mailer   Theory  465 

the  objections  to  the  Hering  theory.  To  avoid  the  second  of 
these  difficulties,  the  occurrence  of  colorless  light  sensation  when 
the  black  and  white  retinal  processes  are  in  equilibrium,  Mtiller 
refers  these  sensations  of  gray  to  a  black-white  excitation  con- 
stantly going  on  in  the  visual  brain-centre.  This  second  hypothe- 
sis, it  will  be  noted,  is  logically  valid,  but  it  is  purely  imaginary, 
and  it  deprives  the  color-theory  of  the  supposed  advantage  of 
explaining  colorless  light  in  the  same  way  in  which  colors  are 
explained.  The  third  objection  to  the  Hering  hypothesis  is  not 
met  by  Miiller;  and  this,  in  itself,  constitutes  a  reason  for  aban- 
doning the  hypothesis  of  antagonistic  color-processes.  It  should 
be  added  that  Miiller's  introspective  analysis  of  the  four  color- 
quality  series,  red  to  yellow,  yellow  to  green,  green  to  blue,  and 
blue  to  red,  is  a  valuable  argument  for  the  theory  that  there  are 
four  color-elements. 

Another  modification  of  the  Hering  theory,  earlier  than  that  of 
Miiller,  must  be  mentioned.  This  is  the  hypothesis  of  Ebbing- 
haus,^  who  substitutes,  for  the  Hering  conception  of  assimilative 
and  dissimilative  processes,  a  conception  of  progressive  and 
antagonistic  stages  of  decomposition  of  three  visual  substances. 
In  particular,  Kbbinghaus  makes  the  following  suppositions: 
(i)  The  rod-pigment,  called  '  visual  purple,'  by  its  first  stage  of 
decomposition  occasions  sensations  of  yellow.  In  its  second 
phase,  this  substance  is  yellow,  not  purple,  and  its  decomposition 
conditions  sensations  of  blue.  (2)  There  is  a  second,  an  objec- 
tively red-green  substance,  present  in  the  cones,  and  the  first  and 
second  processes  of  its  decomposition  occasion  the  colors  of  green 
and  red;  it  has  never  been  observed  because,  in  its  green  phase, 
it  is  complementary  to  the  visual  purple.  (3)  A  third,  invisible 
substance  occasions  sensations  of  white  and  black,  by  its  progres- 
sive decomposition.  I'his  theory,  however,  cannot  hold  out 
against  the  following  entirely  decisive  objections:  The  different 
stages  of  decomposition  are,  in  the  first  place,  successive,  and 
they  therefore  do  not  explain  any  phenomena  due  to  the  mixture 
of  lights.  I'urthermore,  there  is  no  support  for  I'^lbbinghaus's 
conjectures  about  the  objective  color  of  visual  substances.  It 
is,  for  example,  highly  improbable  that  in  everv  retina  so  far 
examined,  precisely  the  antagonistic  green  and  purple  phases  of 
the  visual  substances  should  have  been  present. - 

1  "Theorie  des  Farbensehens,"  Ztsch.  f.  Psych,  it.  Physiol,  d.  Siniiesorgane, 
1893.  Ini  ^"'5  textbook  on  psychology,  1897,  Kbbinghaus  does  not  bring  for- 
ward this  theory. 

2  Cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  Mind,  N.  S.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  473;  Cattell,  Psychological 
Review,  Vol.  1.,  p.  325. 

2  H 


466  The  Ebbinghaus   Theory 

From  the  study  of  this  group  of  Hering-like  theories,  we  turn, 
therefore,  to  the  discussion  of  certain  theories  of  another  type. 
Hering,  Mtiller  and  Ebbinghaus  suppose  that  the  physiological 
conditions  of  colorless  light  sensations  must  be  closely  analogous 
to  those  of  the  color-sensations.  Wundt,  von  Kries,  Konig  and 
Christine  Ladd  Franklin,  on  the  contrary,  teach  that  the  two 
experiences  are  due  to  different  conditions.  The  theory  of 
Wundt  ^  is  simplest  and  most  unelaborated  of  the  four  which 
will  be  outlined.  His  doctrine  includes  the  following  features: 
(i)  The  consciousness  of  color  is  due  to  a  photochemical  process, 
called  a  'chromatic'  retinal  process,  which  varies  with  the  length 
of  the  ether-waves  falling  on  the  retina.  (Wundt's  assumption 
of  more  than  four  elementary  colors  is  not  an  essential  feature  of 
his  theory.)  (2)  The  sensational  elements  of  white  and  gray  — 
which,  according  to  Wundt,  are  identical  with  brightness  —  are 
due  to  an  'achromatic  '  retinal  process  of  chemical  decomposi- 
tion, which  varies  with  the  amplitude  of  the  ether-waves. 
(3)  The  consciousness  of  black  or  of  'dark'  is  due  to  a  third, 
constant  retinal  process,  and  occurs,  therefore,  without  external 
stimulus,  and  when  opposite  ether-wave  vibrations  cancel  each 
other.  This  last  hypothesis  would  readily  account  for  the  fact, 
so  difficult  of  explanation  on  Hering's  theory,  that  a  mixture  of 
black  and  white  stimuli  do  not  destroy  each  other.  Wundt  also 
avoids  the  other  difficulties  attendant  on  Hering's  theory,  but 
he  accomplishes  this,  in  great  part  at  least,  by  his  own  indefinite- 
ness.  He  does  not,  for  example,  attempt  a  description  of  his 
achromatic  and  chromatic  processes. 

The  theories  of  Konig,  von  Kries  and  Franklin  agree  in  the 
affirmation  that  the  retinal  rods  have  to  do  with  the  conditioning 
of  colorless  light  sensations.  Several  of  the  arguments  which 
conclusively  show  the  correctness  of  this  view  have  already  been 
enumerated.'^  These  arguments  may  now  be  restated  and  ampli- 
fied, (i)  The  periphery  of  the  retina,  whose  excitation  gives 
only  colorless  light,  contains  rods,  well  provided  with  visual 
purple,  and  no  cones.  (2)  The  retin?e  of  night-seeing  animals 
are  rich  in  rods.^  (3)  The  visual  purple  absorbs  most  readily 
just  that  color,  green,  which  is  intensest  in  faint  light.*     (4)  Two 

1  "Phys.  Psych.,"  I.,  536;   Phil.  Stud.,  IV.,  1887;   "Lectures,"  VI.,  103. 

2  Chapter  II.,  p.  40. 

^  This  observation  was  made  in  1866  by  Max  Schultze,  who  drew  the  infer- 
ence that  the  rods  are  concerned  in  faint-light  vision. 

*  This  discovery  was  made  in  1894  by  Professor  Arthur  Konig,  and  Frl. 
Else  Kottgen,  through  the  investigation  of  an  extracted  human  retina.  Cf. 
Sitzungsberichte  d.  Akad.  d.  Wissensch.  zu  Berlin,  Juni,  1894. 


The   Wundt  TJico7y  467 

mixtures,  one  of  red  and  blue-green  lights  and  a  second  of  blue 
and  yellow  lights,  which  form  grays  of  precisely  similar  intensity 
when  looked  at  by  an  eye  adapted  to  the  light,  form  grays  which 
differ  widely  in  intensity  to  an  eye  adapted  to  the  darkness.^ 
This  fact  is  inexplicable  on  a  Hering-Miiller  hypothesis,  for  if 
the  colorless  light  sensation,  which  follows  mixtures  of  color- 
stimuli,  were  due  to  the  activity  of  a  black-white  substance,  then 
the  sensation  would  not  vary  with  the  composition  of  the  complex 
color-stimulus:  a  gray,  due  to  the  mixture  of  red  and  green,  could 
not  change,  with  the  adaptation  of  the  eye,  in  any  other  way  than 
the  gray  due  to  mixture  of  blue  and  yellow,  for  the  retinal  condi- 
tion of  the  one  would  be  exactly  that  of  the  other  —  activity  of 
white-black  substance.  The  fact  accords  well,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  the  theory  that  rod  activity  has  to  do  with  colorless  light 
sensations,  for  the  visual  purple  on  the  rods  is  renewed  in  the  eye 
rested  by  the  darkness,  but  is  bleached  out  in  the  light.  There- 
fore, the  eye  adapted  to  the  dark  absorbs  more  green  rays  than  the 
eye  adapted  to  the  light;  and  grays,  due  to  mixture  of  'colors' 
which  seemed  alike  in  a  bright  light,  will  have  different  intensi- 
ties when  the  rod-pigment,  renewed  by  the  darkness,  more  readily 
absorbs  the  green  of  the  red-green  mixture. '•^ 

From  this  consideration  of  the  arguments,  which  support  any 
one  of  the  theories  of  rod-excitation  as  condition  of  colorless 
light  sensation,  we  must  go  on  to  a  separate  study  of  each  of  these 
different  theories,  beginning  with  that  of  Mrs.  C.  L.  Franklin, 
already  adopted  as  the  most  probable  of  the  hypotheses  so  far 
advanced.^  The  Franklin  theory,  in  its  latest  form,''  lays  stress 
on  the  following  points:  (i)  Sensational  elements  of  white  or 
gray  are  due  to  the  complete  decomposition  of  the  molecules  of 
a  photochemical  retinal  substance.  This  substance  is  found 
both  on  the  rods  and  on  the  cones.  On  the  rods,  it  exists  in  an 
undifferentiated  condition,  so  that  it  "goes  to  pieces  all  at  once 
under  the  influence  of  light  of  any  kind";*"  on  the  cones,  it  has 

1  This  fact  was  established  by  C.  L.  Franklin  and  by  Ebbinghaus.  Cf. 
"Nature,"  Vol.  48,  p.  Qij;  "Theorie  des  Farbensehens,"  Separat-Abdruck 
aus  Ztsch.  f.  Psych,  u.  PJtvsiol.  d.  Siniiesorgniie,  1893,  p.  27. 

2  Cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  "The  Extended  Purkinje  Phenomenon,"  Psychological 
Review,  Vol.  V.,  p.  309. 

3  Cf.  Chapter  II.,  p  40. 

*  Miiller's  "Theory  of  the  Light  Sense,"  Psychological  Review,  Vol.  VI., 
p.  84. 

*  C.  L.  Franklin,  "  The  Functions  of  the  Rods  of  the  Retina,"  Psychological 
Revie'tV,  Vol.  Ill  ,  pp.  7 1  seq.  For  more  detailed,  but  older,  statement  of  the 
theory,  cf.  Mind,  1893. 


468  The  Franklin   Theoiy 

been  modified  so  that  its  decomposition  occurs  in  two,  or  in  four, 
stages.  But  the  complete  decomposition  of  the  molecules  of 
this  substance,  whether  in  the  rods  or  in  the  cones,  excites  sensa- 
tions of  white  or  gray.  (2)  A  sensational  element  of  color  is 
occasioned  by  one  stage  in  the  partial  decomposition  of  the  dif- 
ferentiated molecules  of  the  photochemical  substance  in  the 
cones.  These  differentiated  molecules  consist,  in  this  second 
stage  of  development,  "of  two  distinct  parts,  one  fitted  to  be 
shaken  to  pieces  by  light  from  the  warm  end  of  the  spectrum  [the 
yellow-producing]  and  the  other  by  light  from  the  cold  end  of 
the  spectrum  [the  blue-producingj ;  ...  in  a  third  state  of 
development  the  yellow-producing  constituent  is  in  its  turn  broken 
up  into  two  parts  of  such  different  internal  vibration  periods  that 
they  respond  respectively  to  the  red  light  and  the  green  light  of 
the  spectrum."^  (3)  The  rod-pigment,  or  visual  purple,  is  "not 
the  substance  whose  chemical  decomposition  affects  the  optical 
nerve-ends,"^  but  is  a  substance  which  acts  "by  absorbing  (for 
the  purpose  of  reenforcing  faint  light  vision)  a  large  amount  of 
the  light  which  usually  passes  entirely  through  the  transparent 
rods  and  cones."  ^  (4)  The  sensational  element  black  "is  ac- 
counted for  .  .  .  as  the  effect  on  the  nerve-ends  of  the  resting 
condition  of  the  photochemical  substance;  it  is  therefore  the 
antithesis  to  every  color  as  well  as  to  white."  "^ 

The  proofs  in  favor  of  this  hypothesis  have  now  to  be  consid- 
ered. The  features  which  chiefly  distinguish  the  theory  from 
other  rod-excitation  theories  are  the  following:  (i)  The  hypothesis 
of  one  photochemical  substance,  both  in  rods  and  in  cones,  com- 
posed, on  the  rods,  of  undifferentiated  molecules  (which  may  be 
decomposed  by  ether-waves  of  any  and  all  lengths)  and,  on  the 
cones,  of  molecules  so  differentiated  that  distinct  parts  of  them 
have  'different  vibration  periods.'  (2)  The  conception  of  the 
rod-pigment  as  a  reenforcing  agent.  (3)  The  conception  of  black 
as  qualitatively  distinct  from  white  and  gray,  and  as  differently 
o-:casioned.  In  favor  of  the  first  of  these  hypotheses,  the  follow- 
ing considerations  maybe  urged:  It  is  («; )  in  accordance  with 
physical  an  1  chemical  conceptions.^  It  is  {b)  furthermore  in 
close  harmony  wiUi  recent  histological  investigations.  The 
Spanish  neurologist,  Ramon  y  Cajal,  and  others  have  shown  that 

1  C.  L.  Franklin,  op.  cit.,  Psychological  Revinv,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  84. 

2  Op.  cit..  Psychological  Review,  Vol.  V.,  p.  332. 

3  Ibid.,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  80. 

*  "Color-Sensation  Theory,"  Psychological  Revie^v,  Vol.  I.,  p.  171. 
5  Cf.  C.   L.    Franklin,  op.  cit,  Psychological  Review,  Vol.   III.,   p.   72   and 
Psychological  Revieiv,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  84. 


The  Franklin   Theory  469 

the  retinal  cones  are  really  rods  in  a  high  stage  of  development. ' 
"The  fact  is  very  much  to  the  favor  of  those  theories  .  .  .  which 
regard  the  color  function  of  the  cones  as  a  developed  form  of  the 
rod  function."  This  feature  of  the  Franklin  theory  has  {c)  a  great 
advantage  over  the  von  Kries  and  Konig  theories,  which  are  later 
to  be  outlined,  in  that  it  offers  an  essentially  identical  explana- 
tion for  all  colorless  light  sensations,  whether  excited  peripher- 
ally or  in  some  other  way.  This  advantage  will  be  accentuated 
further  on. 

For  the  Franklin  theory  of  the  reenforcing  function  of  the  rod- 
pigment,  the  following  arguments  are  offered:  {a)  It  cannot  be 
supposed  that  the  functioning  of  the  rod-pigment  is  essential  to 
sensational  elements  of  color  or  of  colorless  light,  because  we  see 
white  and  grays,  as  well  as  all  colors,  in  light  so  brilliant  that  it 
destroys  the  rod-pigment,  {h)  The  greater  intensity,  in  faint 
light,  of  the  green  rays  which  are  most  readily  absorbed  by  the 
purplish  rod-pigment,  and  the  brightening,  in  faint  light,  of  gray, 
due  to  mixture  of  red  and  green  lights,  are  facts  which  are  very 
readily  explained  by  this  conception  of  the  rod-pigment  as  a  sub- 
stance which  reenforces  faint-light  vision,  {c)  According  to  this 
hypothesis,  the  purplish  color  of  the  rod-pigment  is  highly  sig- 
nificant, for  "it  is  adapted  to  aiding  vision  in  the  gloomy  depths 
of  the  forest,  because  green  light  is  the  light  which  it  absorbs"; 
and,  of  course,  primitive  animal  life  is  mainly  passed  in  the 
forest.^ 

The  Franklin  hypothesis  concerning  black  need  not  here  be 
considered,  for  it  is  independent  of  other  parts  of  the  theory,  and 
is  mainly  based  on  introspective  grounds.^  It  will  be  well,  how- 
ever, to  compare  the  theory  as  a  whole  with  other  theories  of 
color  and  colorless  light. 

Like  all  theories  which  explain  colorless  light  sensations  by  the 
functioning  of  a  substance  in  the  rods,  this  hypothesis  (i)  explains, 
as  the  Helmholtz  theory  cannot,  the  occurrence  of  white  and 
gray  without  mixture  of  lights;  it  advances  upon  the  antagonistic 
color-theories  of  Hering,  Muller  and  Ebbingliaus,  by  providing 
(2)  an  explanation  of  the  fact  that  grays,  due  to  different  mixtures, 
which  are  exactly  similar,  become  dissimilar  in  changing  illu- 
mination ;  and  (3)  by  accounting  for  the  fact  that  blue-green,  not 
green,  is  'complementary'  to  red;  it  is  furthermore  (4)  a  more 
definite  hypothesis  than  that  of  Wundt. 

1  Ramon  y  Cajal's  Neuere  P.eitrage,  Ztsch.  f.  Psych,  u.  Phvsiol.  d.  Siniies- 
organe.  Vol.  XVI.,  1898,  p.  161.  Cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  Psychological  Review, 
Vul.  VI.,  pp.  212  and  85. 

2  Op.  cit.,  Psychological  Reviezu,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  80.         »  Cf.  Chapter  II.,  p.  30. 


470  The  Von  Kries   Theory 

We  have  next,  therefore,  to  compare  the  Franklin  theory  with 
the  two  remaining  rod-excitation  theories.  Of  these,  the  hypothe- 
sis of  Professor  J.  von  Kries  is  the  simplest.  Von  Kries  teaches^ 
(i)  that  color-sensations  are  due  to  the  activity  of  retinal  cones, 
and  (2)  that  sensational  elements  of  colorless  light  are  due  to  one 
of  two  distinct  retinal  conditions,  either  to  the  functioning  of 
retinal  cones  or  to  the  combination  of  three  different  retinal 
processes  connected  with  the  cones.  It  is  evident  that  the  von 
Kries  theory  differs  from  that  of  Mrs.  Franklin  in  two  main  par- 
ticulars: it  is,  in  the  first  place,  more  indefinite,  since  it  does 
not  attempt  to  describe  the  activity  of  either  rods  or  cones.  In 
this  respect  the  Franklin  theory,  since  its  hypotheses  are  reason- 
able, distinctly  advances  on  that  of  von  Kries.  More  positively, 
in  the  second  place,  von  Kries  differs  from  Mrs.  Franklin  in 
insisting  that  rods  and  cones  are  utterly  different  in  function. 
His  chief  argument  is  the  fact  that  colorless  light  sensations, 
through  peripheral  excitation,  are  differently  conditioned  from 
faint-light  vision  or  color-blind  vision.^  This  is  indeed  proved, 
"since  the  relative  brightness  of  the  spectrum,  throughout  its 
length,  is  not  the  same  in  the  two  cases'';^  but  the  phenomenon 
is  readily  explained  in  accordance  with  the  Franklin  theory,  for 
the  periphery  in  bright  light  lacks  the  rod-pigment,  whereas  this 
rod-pigment  is  built  up  in  the  retina  during  faint  illumination, 
and  is  probably  present  in  great  degree  in  color-blind  eyes.  The 
discovery  that  this  phenomenon  does  not  tell  in  favor  of  von 
Kries  leaves  his  theory  encumbered  with  a  tremendous  burden : 
the  improbability  that  peripheral  gray  and  faint  light  gray,  which 
appear  to  everybody  exactly  similar,  should  be  due  to  utterly  dis- 
tinct retinal  conditions.  This  objection  von  Kries  has  never 
satisfactorily  answered. 

The  theory  of  Professor  Arthur  Konig  is  far  more  complicated. 
It  agrees  with  that  of  von  Kries,  in  that  it  attributes  the  color- 
less light  consciousness  to  two  retinal  processes,  but  it  involves, 
as  will  be  shown,  an  entirely  new  consideration.  Konig  teaches 
first,  that  the  consciousness  of  colorless  light  is  due  either  to  the 
weak  decomposition  of  the  rod-pigment  ifl  its  purplish  stage,  or 
to  the  combined  decomposition  of  the  retinal  substances;  second, 
that  the  consciousness  of  blue  is  occasioned  by  the  decomposi- 
tion of  the  rod-pigment  in  its  second  or  yellow  stage  (the  visual 
yellow) ;  and  finally,  that  the  other  forms  of  color-sensations  are 

1  Zlsch.  f.  Psych,  u.  Physiol,  d.  Sinnesorgane,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  82,  Vol.  XV., 
p.  247;    "  Abhandlungen,"  Leipzig,  1897. 

2  Ztsch.,  Vol.  XV.  ■ 

^  C.  L.  Franklin,  Psychological  Review,  Vol.  V.,  p.  330. 


The  K'dnig  Theory  471 

due  to  the  decomposition  of  other  retinal  substances,  as  yet 
undiscovered,  which  are  in  the  pigment  layer — ^  not  in  the  rod 
and  cone  layer  —  of  the  retina.  The  theory  that  the  conscious- 
ness of  white  and  gray,  in  ordinary  fovea!  vision,  in  faint  light 
and  in  color-blindness  has  another  retinal  condition  than  that  of 
peripherally  excited  sensations  of  colorless  light,  is  evidently 
opposed  by  the  grave  objection  which  confronts  the  von  Kries 
theory:  the  improbability  that  sensations  subjectively  alike  should 
have  widely  different  conditions.^  The  distinctive  features  of 
the  theory  are,  however,  the  following:  (i)  the  statement  that  the 
sensational  element  of  blue  is  occasioned  by  the  strong  decompo- 
sition of  the  rod-pigment;  (2)  the  theory  that  there  are  color- 
substances  in  the  pigment  layer  of  the  retina.  In  proof  of  the 
first  point,  Konig  adduces  his  experimental  discovery  that  the 
fovea,  which  contains  few  rods  or  none,  is  blue-blind.  His  argu- 
ment for  the  second  hypothesis  is  an  experiment  performed  by 
himself  and  Dr.  Zumft:^  two  shadows  of  a  blood-vessel  were 
thrown,  by  different  colored  lights,  upon  the  retina;  the  distance 
between  the  shadows  was  measured,  and  thus  the  distance  of  the 
blood-vessel  from  the  excited  layer  of  the  retina  was  calculated; 
this  distance  was  found  to  vary  with  the  colors  of  the  light,  to 
b:  greater  for  red  than  for  blue,  and  to  be  greater  than  the  depth 
of  the  rod  and  cone  layer.  Konig  concludes,  as  has  been  said, 
that  the  retinal  processes  which  condition  red,  yellow  and  prob- 
ably green,  must  lie  behind  the  rod  and  cone  layer,  in  the  pigment 
layer. 

In  spite  of  the  ingenuity  of  these  arguments,  Konig  does  not 
seem,  to  the  writer  of  this  book,  to  prove  his  points.  The  objec- 
tions urged  against  both  parts  of  the  theory  are  decisive.  Ihe 
explanation  of  blue  as  due  to  the  functioning  of  the  'visual  yellow, ' 
is  opposed  by  the  fact  that  one  often  sees  blue  in  light  strong 
enough  to  bleach  out  the  rod-pigment  in  this  yellow  stage. ^ 
Konig  bases  this  hypothesis  on  the  alleged  blue-blindness  of  the 
fovea;  but  this  blue-blindness  has  been  disputed,'*  and,  in  any 
case,  could  be  otherwise  explained.  Against  the  second  hypothe- 
sis of  the  theory,  the  following  objections  may  be  urged :  ^ 
{a)  "It  proves  too  much,"  for  the  depth  of  the  rod  and  cone 

1  Cf.  E.  Hering,  Pfluger's  Archiv,  Vol.  LIX.,  p.  412. 

2  Uber  die   lichtemplindliche    Schicht  in   der  Net/.haut    des   menschlichen 
Auges,  Sitzungsberichte  d.  Akad.  d.  Wissensch.  zu  Berlin,  1894. 

**  C.  L.  Franklin,  Psychological  Kevietv,  Vol.  II.,  p.  146. 
*  Hering,  op.  cit.,  p.  403. 

^  C.  L.  Franklin,  op.  cit.     Cf.  Gad,  "  Der  Energium-Satz  in  der  Retina," 
Separat-Abzug  aus  Arch.  f.  Anat.  u.  Physiol.,  1894. 


472 


Summary  of  Theories 


layer  and  pigment  layer  together  are  not  equal  to  the  calculated 
difference  between  the  retinal  shadows,  (b)  The  explanation  of 
color-sensations  as  due  to  the  excitation  either  of  rod-pigment  or 
of  substances  in  the  pigment  layer,  makes  it  necessary  to  assign 
a  new  role  to  the  retinal  cones.  Konig  supposes  them  to  be 
lenses  for  concentrating  light  on  the  pigment  layer  cells.  But 
this  leaves  unexplained  the  nerve  conduction  from  the  fovea, 
and  it  also  distinguishes  too  sharply  between  the  rods  and  cones, 
which,  as  we  know,  are  anatomically  very  similar.  It  should  be 
added,  however,  that  the  results  of  Konig' s  shadow-experiment 
have  neither  been  repeated  nor  disputed;  and  that  his  account 
of  these  results,  though  justly  criticised,  has  not  been  replaced 
by  another  explanation. 

This  discussion  of  modern  color-theories  may  be  concluded 
by  a  rough  outline  and  classification  of  their  most  prominent 
features. 


I.    The  Three-color  Theory  of  Helmholtz 


(statement) 

Three  elemental  colors:  red, green, 
violet. 

Colorless  light  sensations  only 
through  mixture  of  color- 
stimuli. 

Colorless  light  sensations  '  com- 
pounds ''  of  color-sensations. 


(objections) 

Introspection  discloses  four  ele- 
mental colors. 

No  explanation  for : 

peripheral,         ]      ^ 

fanit  light,  •  ,.     '' 

y      ^\-   \  sensations, 

color-bund,       J 

Introspectively  untrue. 


II.    The  Theories  of  <  Antagonistic  '  Colors  of  Hering, 

MUller,  Ebbinghaus 


(statement) 

Four  elemental  colors  :  red,  green, 
blue,  yellow. 

Two  pair  of  antagonistic  color- 
processes  :  red-green  and  blue- 
yellow. 

Colorless  light  sensations  through 
activity  of  a  white-black  sub- 
stance, or  through  cerebral  ex- 
citation, when  color-processes 
have  neutralized  each  other. 


(main  objections) 


The  mixture  of  red  and  green  lights 
does  not  -produce  colorless  light 
sensations. 


\ 


[See  text.] 


Summary  of  Theories  473 


III.    The  Theories  of  Colorless  Light  Sensation  as  Due  to 

Rod-excitation 

(<z)    Theories  of  I'oi  Kries  ami  K'dnig 

(statement)  (objections) 

Four  color-elements,  due  to  cone- 
excitation  (von   Kries)  ;    or  to 

decomposition  of  visual-yellow,  [See  text.] 

and    pigment    layer    excitation 
(Konig). 

Colorless  light  sensations,  due  both       Improbability  of  two  distinct  ret- 
to  rod-excitation  and   to   com-  inal   conditions   of  subjectively 
bination  of  distinct  color-pro-           similar  sensations, 
cesses. 

(J))    Theory  of  C.  L.  Franklin 

Four  color-elements,  due  to  partial 

decomposition  of  differentiated  j-p^^  arguments  see  text.] 

molecules    (ot     photochemical  l  o  j 

substance)  in  cones. 
Colorless  light  sensations   due  to 
complete  decomposition  of: 
(«)    Undifferentiated     mole- 
cules in  rods. 
{b)    Differentiated  molecules 
in  cones. 


II.    Certain  Phenomena  of  Color-vision 

a.     CONTRAST   PHENOMENA 

There  are  two  forms  of  contrast,  successive  and  simultaneous. 
Successive  contrast  may  be  illustrated  by  the  following  rough 
experiment:  if,  with  eyes  fixed,  one  looks  steadily  for  twenty  or 
thirty  seconds  at  a  square  of  red  paper  on  a  gray  surface,  and  if  one 
then  looks  off  at  the  gray  background,  one  is  conscious,  not  of  the 
uninterrupted  gray  field,  but  of  a  square  of  bluish  green,  which 
moves,  as  one's  eyes  move,  across  the  background.^  Parallel 
results  follow  upon  the  fixation  of  small  green,  blue  and  yellow 
surfaces:  when  the  eye  is  moved  to  the  gray  background  one  sees, 

1  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  124;  Titchener,  §  11,  Exps.  (7)  and  (8). 


474  Contrast-phenomena 

instead  of  gray,  a  second  figure,  whose  color  is  complementary 
to  that  of  the  stimulus;  and  if  white  or  black  be  fixated,  the 
'negative  after-image,'  as  the  contrasting  color  is  called,  is  black 
or  white. 

Here  one  has  an  instance  of  a  psychic  phenomenon,  precisely 
opposed  to  that  which  is  the  natural  consequence  of  the  physical 
stimulus:  yellow  light  induces  the  sensational  consciousness  of 
blue,  blue  light  induces  yellow,  and  so  on.  The  explanation 
of  these  contrast-phenomena  must  therefore  be  physiological. 
According  to  Fechner,  followed  by  Helmholtz,^  they  are  due  to 
retinal  fatigue.  The  retinal  process  induced  by  the  yellow  light, 
for  example,  is  exhausted  by  fixation  of  the  yellow  paper;  when, 
therefore,  the  eye  is  moved  to  the  gray  background  and  the  retina 
is  stimulated  by  colorless  light  (a  combination  of  ether-waves 
of  all  vibration-rates),  the  retinal  processes  corresponding  to  the 
yellow  light  are  exhausted,  and  only  the  unfatigued  processes, 
which  condition  the  consciousness  of  blue,  are  excited.  This 
explanation,  though  most  often  stated  in  terms  of  the  Helmholtz 
theory,  is  really  in  accord  with  any  hypothesis  of  retinal  activity 
as  occasioning  color-sensations.  Hering  has  shown,  however, 
that  the  Fechner  theory  is  insufficient  to  explain  all  the  phe- 
nomena involved  in  successive  contrast.^  In  particular,  he  shows 
that  the  back;^'round  of  the  negative  after-image  is  always  affected 
in  hue  or  in  intensity. 

We  turn,  therefore,  to  the  study  of  simultaneous  contrast. 
Many  everyday  phenomena,  for  example  the  decided  blue  of  the 
shadows  on  a  sunlighted  field  of  snow,  illustrate  what  is  known 
as  simultaneous  contrast.  There  are  also  many  experimental 
verifications  of  the  phenomenon.^  The  simplest  is  the  examina- 
tion of  squares  or  rings  of  gray,  on  colored  surfaces,  through  a 
tissue  paper  covering,  which  obscures  the  outline  of  the  gray  fig- 
ures; these  gray  figures  will  then  appear  in  the  color  comple- 
mentary to  the  background,  yellow  on  a  blue  background,  red  on 
bluish  green,  and  so  on. 

An  exact  explanation  of  this  curious  phenomenon  has  never 
been  given,  but  it  has  been  established  by  Hering,  against  the 
teaching  of  Helmholtz,  that  the  explanation,  whatever  it  is,  of 
simultaneous  contrast,  must  be  physiological  in  its  nature. 
Helmholtz  taught  that  simultaneous  contrast  is  no  more  nor  less 
than   a    psychological    illusion.*     According  to  his   theory,  we 

1  "  Physiologische  Optik,"  Ed.  2,  pp.  501  seq.,  537  seq.,  §§  23,  24. 

2  Cf.  Hering,  "  Zur  Lehre  vom  Lichtsinne,"  especially  §  18. 

8  For  experiments,  cf.  Sanford,  152,  /',  c,  d;  Titchener,  §  10,  especially 
Exp.  (I),  (2),  (3).  *  op.  cit.,  §  24,  p.  559. 


Color-blindness  475 

'really'  see,  not  a  complementary  contrast-color  but  the  physi- 
cally excited,  actual  gray  figure,  though  we  fallaciously  suppose 
that  this  gray  is  yellow,  if  it  lies  on  a  blue  background,  or  green, 
if  it  is  seen  against  purple.  The  explanation,  for  so  wukapread 
an  illusion,  is  found  in  the  admitted  fact  that  people  are  accus- 
tomed to  look  at  familiar,  colored  objects  through  a  comple- 
mentary colored  medium,  which  makes  them  seem  gray.  For 
example,  we  see  a  red  brick  wall  through  the  green  lights  of  a 
hall  door;  the  wall  seems  gray,  but  we  still  think  of  it  as  red. 
Or  again,  the  blue  gown  looks  gray  in  the  yellow  gaslight,  but  is 
known  to  be  blue.  The  gray  figures  of  the  simultaneous  contrast 
experiences  are  thus,  Helmholtz  holds,  inferred  —  not  actually 
seen  —  to  be  of  a  color  complementary  to  that  of  the  background. 
But  opposed  to  this  theory  of  Helmholtz  are  insurmountable 
obstacles.  In  the  first  place,  it  directly  contradicts  our  intro- 
spection. We  not  only  do  not  naturally  see  objects,  in  simul- 
taneous contrast,  as  gray,  but  in  most  cases  we  cannot  force 
ourselves  to  do  so ;  the  gray  ring  on  the  colored  background  is 
immediately,  and  inevitably,  blue  or  yellow  or  red.  It  is  highly 
improbable,  in  the  second  place,  that  our  comparatively  infre- 
quent and  unnoticed  experiences  of  colored  objects,  in  light  of 
complementary  color,  should  have  formed  in  us  such  a  habit  of 
inference  as  this  theory  supposes.  The  Helmholtz  theory  is 
disproved,  finally,  by  direct  and  unambiguous  experiments.^ 

It  is  fair  to  conclude,  with  Hering,  that  simultaneous  contrast 
is  physiologically  conditioned;  in  other  words,  that  when  one 
part  of  the  retina  is  directly  excited  by  a  colored  light,  retinal 
processes  which  condition  a  complementary  color  are  set  up  in 
the  neighboring  retinal  regions.  This  undoubted  fact  can  be 
stated  in  terms  of  any  color-theory,  but  it  has  never  been,  in  any 
strict  sense  explained,  or  accounted  for.'^ 

b.     COLOR-BLINDNESS 

'  The  description  and  explanation  of  color-blindness  have  gone 
hand  in  hand  with  the  discussion  of  color-theories,  and  fact  has 
not  even,  always,  been  clearly  distinguished  from  hypothesis.  It 
was  rightly  inferred,  for  example,  that  if  the  Helmholtz  hypothe- 
sis (of  three  color-processes  and  no  distinct  colorless  light  appara- 
tus) were  correct,  then  color-blindness  would  consist  in  the  absence 
of  one  or  other  of  these  color-processes.     Accordingly,  the  ordi- 

1  Cf.  Sanford,  155  a  and  b\  156  a  and  h  ;  Ilering,  "  Beitrag  zur  Lehre  vom 
Simultankontrast,"   Ztsch.  f.  Psvch.  u.  Physiol,  d.  Sinnesorgane,  Vol.  I.,  p.  18. 

2  Cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  Mind,  N.  S.,  Vol.  II.,  1893. 


476  ■  Color-blindness 

nary  forms  of  color-blindness  were  called  'red-blindness'  and 
'green-blindness.'  It  has,  however,  been  established  by  Hering 
and  by  others,  that  the  so-called  'red-blind'  sees  red,  not  as 
green-blue  —  which  the  Helmholtz  theory  requires  —  but  as  gray, 
and  that  he  does  not  see  green  as  green;  and  conversely,  it  has 
been  shown  that  the  'green- blind  '  sees  green  as  gray  and  fails  to 
see  red  as  red.  I'his  conclusion  has  been  reached  both  by  experi- 
ments on  the  totally  red-green  blind,  which  require  the  matching 
of  different  hues  and  shades,  and  also  by  the  examination  of 
subjects  who  are  color-blind  in  one  eye  only,  so  that  they  can 
compare  their  color-blind  with  their  normal  experiences.^  Evi- 
dently, therefore,  the  facts  of  color-blindness  definitely  contradict 
the  Hemholtz  color-theory.  Unfortunately,  they  do  not  unequivo- 
cally pronounce  in  favor  of  any  one  of  the  other  color-theories. 
A  further  study  of  the  forms  of  color-blindness  will  make  this 
clear. 

In  his  early  discussions  of  color-blindness,  Hering  supposed 
the  existence  of  a  single  form  of  red-green  blindness,  in  which 
both  red  and  green  were  seen  as  gray.  Later  investigation  has, 
however,  established  the  fact  that  there  are  two  distinct  types  of 
red-green  blindness.  In  the  one,  the  unmixed  red  is  seen  as 
gray,  the  yellowish  reds  and  greens  are  an  unsaturated  yellow, 
and  even  saturated  green  appears  as  yellow  and  not  as  gray.  In 
the  other  form  of  red-green  blindness,  saturated  green  seems 
gray,  the  yellowish  greens  and  reds  are  unsaturated  yellow,  and 
even  red  is  seen  not  as  gray  but  as  yellow.^  "  It  is  as  if  red  vision 
had  fallen  out  and  green  vision  had  been  turned  into  yellow 
vision  for  the  one  sort;  and  for  the  other  sort,  it  is  as  if  green 
vision  had  fallen  out  and  yellow  vision  had  taken  the  place  of 
red  vision."^  The  existence  of  these  different  forms  of  red- 
green  blindness  tells  against  the  Hering  view  that  all  forms  of 
red-green  blindness  are  due  merely  to  the  absence  of  the  red- 
green  substance.  Hering' s  recent  explanation  of  the  distinction, 
as  due  to  individual  differences  in  the  yellow  spot  of  the  eye,  is 
inadequate;  Miiller's  account  of  it,  as  due  to  an  indirect  effect 
of  red  light  on  the  'blue-yellow  '  substance,  is  extremely  compli- 
cated, and  is,  of  course,  at  variance  with  the  Hering  theory  in 
its  original  form;  Ebbinghaus's  theory,  that  the  distinction  is 
due  to  individual  differences  in  objectively  colored  retinal  sub- 

1  Cf.  Hering,  "  Zur  Erklarung  der  Farbenblindheit,  Sonderabdruck,"  1880, 
especially  §  5  ;  "  Die  Untersuchung  einseitiger  Storung  des  Farbeusinnes," 
especially  pp.  10  seq. 

-  Cf.  Wundt,  op.  ciL,  4'^  Aufl.,  I.,  508,  and  510,  note  I. 

3  C.  L.  Franklin,  op.  ciL,  Psychological  Review,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  82. 


Color-blindness  477 

stances,  makes  use  of  an  unsubstantiated  hypothesis.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  red-blind  with  his  gray,  yellow  and  blue  spectrum 
and  the  green-blind  with  his  yellow,  gray  and  blue  spectrum,  is 
thus  a  crucial  difficulty  for  the  Hering  hypothesis. 

The  forms  of  blue-yellow  blindness,  and  their  relation  to  gen- 
eral color-theory,  need  not  be  discussed  at  length,  for  so  few  cases 
have  been  described^  that  this  form  of  dichromatic  color-blind- 
ness is  insufficiently  established.  Either  the  absence  or  the 
rarity  of  blue-yellow  blindness  would  indicate,  we  may  observe, 
that  blue  and  yellow  were  the  primitive  forms  of  color-vision, 
and  that  red  and  green,  the  last  to  be  attained,  are  the  earliest 
lost.  This  accords  well,  it  will  be  noted,  with  the  Franklin 
theory,  that  the  vibrating  portions  of  the  color-molecule,  which 
occasion  'red'  and  'green,'  are  developed  out  of  the  portion 
whose  decomposition  occasions  yellow.  The  fact,  however,  may 
be  stated  in  harmony  with  still  other  color-theories. 

There  are  a  number  of  well  authenticated  cases  of  achromasia, 
or  total  color-blindness,  in  which  the  subject  sees  all  the  spectral 
colors  as  tones  of  gray.  The  spectrum  of  the  totnlly  color-blind 
is  probably  like  that  of  the  normal  eye  in  faint  illumination. 
Two  forms  of  achromasia  have  been  discovered.  The  first  includes 
cases  in  which  the  fovea,  which,  in  the  normal  eye,  contains 
cones  only  and  no  rods,  is  totally  blind,  not  merely  color-blind. 
Such  cases  evidently  tell  in  favor  of  the  Konig,  von  Kries  and 
Franklin  theories,  of  colorless  light  sensations  as  due  to  retinal 
processes  connected  with  the  rods,  since  excitation  of  a  retinal 
area,  devoid  of  rods,  produces,  in  the  color-blind,  no  visual  sen- 
sations whatever.  But  at  least  three  cases  of  another  sort  have 
been  reported.'^  In  these,  there  was  no  blindness  of  the  fovea, 
which  must  therefore  have  contained  some  apparatus  for  colorless 
light  sensations.  These  cases  have  been  urged  against  the  theory 
that  cone-processes  condition  color-vision,  whereas  rod-processes 
occasion  colorless  light  sensations.  But  as  Mrs.  Franklin  points 
out,^  this  form  of  color-blindness  does  not  disprove  these  theo- 
ries, though  it  does  not  support  them.  For  one  may  either  sup- 
pose, in  general  harmony  with  von  Kries  or  Franklin,  (i)  that 
the  sensitive  fovere  of  these  three  color-blind  subjects  were  unlike 
the  normal,  precisely  in  that  they  contained  not  cones  but  rods 
—  probably  without  visual  purple;  or  one  may  suppose  (2)  that 

^  Cf.  Wundt,  op  cil.,  Vol.  I.,  p.  509  ;  Ebbinghaus,  op  cit.,  p.  71. 

2  Cf.  Hess  and  Hering.  Pfliiger's  Archiv,  71,  105,  reviewed  by  C.  L.  Frank- 
lin, Psychological  Revitnv,  Vol.  V.,  p.  5, ,2. 

3  "The  New  Cases  of  Total  Color-blindness,"  Psychological  Review,  Vol. 
v.,  p.  503. 


478  The  Purkinje  Phenojneno7t 

these  fovepe  contained  undeveloped  cones,  provided  with  the 
same  photochemical  substance  as  the  rods;  or  finally,  (3)  that 
these  cases  of  color-blindness,  without  total  blindness  of  the 
fovea,  are  due  to  no  retinal  peculiarity  whatever,  but  to  some 
disturbance  of  the  visual  centres  in  the  brain.  Many  facts  speak 
for  this  last  hypothesis.  Acquired  color-blindness  is  almost 
always  a  symptom  of  disease  of  brain  or  of  optic  nerve;  the 
effect,  which  is  cerebral,  of  a  dose  of  santonine,  is  to  induce 
yellow-blindness;  and  it  certainly  is  highly  probable  that  color- 
blindness is  due  to  cerebral  rather  than  to  retinal  conditions,^ 
where  there  is,  otherwise,  absolutely  undisturbed  vision. 

These  conclusions  may  now  be  summarized,  with  the  remark 
that  few  of  them  would  remain  unchallenged  by  some  students  of 
color-vision:  There  are  two  general  classes  of  color-blindness, 
partial  and  total.  Red-blindness  —  in  which  the  spectrum  order 
of  colors  appears  as  gray,  yellow,  blue  —  and  green  blindness  — 
in  which  the  order  is  yellow,  gray,  blue  —  are  the  most  common 
form  of  dichromasia  or  partial  color-blindness;  but  there  are 
also  a  few  alleged  cases  of  yellow-blue  blindness,  in  which  the 
patient  sees  grays,  reds  and  greens,  but  no  blues  and  yellows. 
There  are  two  forms  of  achromasia,  or  total  color-blindness:  in 
one,  probably  retinal  in  origin,  the  fovea  is  totally  blind,  and 
there  are  accompanying  defects  of  vision;  in  the  second  form  of 
achromasia,  very  likely  due  to  cerebral  defects,  the  fovea  is  not 
totally  blind,  and  there  are  no  defects  of  vision,  other  than  the 
color-blindness.  These  facts  absolutely  contradict  the  Helm- 
holtz  theory;  are  with  difficulty  harmonized  with  the  Hering 
theory;  support,  or  at  least  do  not  oppose,  a  theory  of  the  general 
form  of  the  Franklin  hypothesis. 

C.     THE    PURKINJE    PHENOMENON 

It  will  be  well  to  summarize  here  the  essential  features  of  a 
characteristic  color-phenomenon,  often  encountered  in  our  study, 
under  its  historic  name  of  'Purkinje  phenomenon.'  As  first 
observed,  it  consists  simply  in  the  fact  that  green  and  blue, '^  seen 
in  a  faint  light,  have  a  greater  intensity  than  red  and  yellow. 
This  is  illustrated  by  the  familiar  phenomenon  that  greens  and 
blues  keep  their  color  in  the  twilight  far  better  and  far  longer 
than  reds  and  yellows;  my  bookshelf,  for  example,  as  the  twilight 
falls,  is  a  succession  of  intense  greens  and  blues,  broken  by  dull 

^  Cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  Psychological  Revieiv,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  520. 
2  Cf.  C.  L.  Franklin,  PsycJwlogical  Review,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  601. 


The  Purkiuje  Phenomenon  479 

reds  and  yellows;  as  the  room  grows  darker,  the  greens  and  blues 
stand  out  against  lighter  and  darker  grays,  representing  the  reds 
and  yellows;  and  even  when  these  greens  and  blues  have  them- 
selves turned  to  gray,  they  are  distinctly  brighter,  more  nearly 
white,  than  the  reds  and  yellows.^ 

A  spectrum,  therefore,  regarded  in  a  very  faint  light,  is  a 
series  of  grays,  darkest  at  the  red  end  and  brightest  in  the  region 
of  green.  Up  to  this  point,  the  Purkinje  phenomenon  has  been 
described,  so  far  as  it  affects  colors.  In  recent  years  it  has, 
however,  been  shown  by  Ebbinghaus  and  by  C.  L.  Franklin,  that 
if  two  grays,  one  produced  by  the  mixture  of  red  and  blue-green 
lights,  and  the  other  excited  by  the  mixture  of  blue  and  yellow 
lights,  be  precisely  matched  in  a  bright  light,  the  first  of  the  two 
will  grow  brighter  than  the  other  in  a  faint  light.  Mrs.  Franklin 
has  suggestively  named  this  observation  an  extension  of  the 
Purkinje  phenomenon. 

The  significance  of  the  Purkinje  phenomenon  has  constantly 
appeared  in  our  discussion  of  color-theories.  It  is  the  most 
unambiguous  psychological  argument  for  the  theory  that  the  visual 
purple,  and  consequently  the  rods  with  which  it  is  found,  are 
organs  of  achromatic,  or  colorless  lighf  vision.  For  the  Purkinje 
phenomenon  appears  only  in  faint  illumination,  and  the  visual 
purple  is  active  only  in  faint  light;  moreover,  the  Purkinje  phe- 
nomenon consists  in  the  intensification  of  green  and  secondarily 
of  blue  lights,  and  the  visual  purple  absorbs  green  rays  —  and, 
after  green,  blue  rays  —  most  readily;  finally,  the  Purkinje  phe- 
nomenon, as  has  been  found, '■^  does  not  occur  when  the  fovese  of 
normal  and  partially  color-blind  eyes  are  excited,  that  is  to  say, 
it  does  not  occur  by  excitation  of  the  region  of  the  retina  which 
lacks  visual  purple  and  rods. 

Mention  should  be  made  of  Hering's  most  recent  account  of 
the  Purkinje  phenomenon  as  due  to  the  'specific  brightening 
power '  of  the  different  colors.^  This  hypothesis  has  lost  its 
excuse  for  being,  for,  at  best,  it  described  the  Purkinje  phenome- 
non instead  of  explaining  it;  and  it  is  logically,  as  well  as  physio- 
logically, superseded  by  the  discovery  that  the  visual  purple  so 
readily  absorbs  green  and  blue  rays. 

1  For  experiment,  cf.  Sanford,  142. 

2  Von  Kries  u.  Nagel,  Zlsch.  f.  Psych,  u.  Physiol,  d.  Sinnesors^ane,  Vol. 
XXIII.,  p.  161,  discussed  by  C.L.  Franklin,  I'sycholoi:;ical  Review,^ kA.'NW.,  p.  600. 

3  This  hypothesis,  it  should  be  noted,  is  not  identical  with  Hering's  origi- 
nal supposition,  which  he  has  now  abandoned,  that  the  brightness  of  a  color 
consists  in  the  brightness  of  the  colorless  light  mixed  with  it.  Cf.  C.  L.  Frank- 
lin, Psychological  Review,  Vol.  III.,  p.  695-^  Vol.  V.,  p.  332;  Vol.  VII.,  p.  604. 


480  Physical  Conditions  of  Smell 


SECTION  IV 

THE  PHYSICAL  AND  THE  PHYSIOLOGICAL  CONDITIONS 
OF  SENSATIONS  OF  SMELL 

By  Eleanor  A.  McC.  Gamble 

Johannes  Muller  is  responsible  for  the  hypothesis  that  odorous 
particles  are  in  solution  when  they  act  upon  the  end-organs  of 
smell.  He  supposed  them  to  be  dissolved  in  the  liquid  which 
covers  the  olfactory  membrane.  The  arguments  for  this  hypothe- 
sis are  as  follows:  First,  amphibia  and  fishes  have  central  nervous 
developments  and  peripheral  organs  which  somewhat  resemble 
the  organs  of  smell  in  birds  and  in  mammals.  Second,  if  the 
mucous  membrane  of  the  nose  becomes  dry,  as  it  does  in  the  first 
stage  of  rhinitis,  smell  is  impaired.  Third,  Aronsohn  obtained 
sensations  of  smell  when  he  poured  into  the  nose,  from  the  height 
of  half  a  meter,  normal  saline  solutions  of  odorous  matter,  of 
slight  concentration,  and  at  40°  C.  Against  these  arguments 
Zwaardemaker  urges  the  following  considerations:  First,  aquatic 
mammals  have,  in  a  rudimentary  state,  organs  of  smell  which 
resemble  those  of  land  mammals.  This  does  not  look  as  if  these 
organs  could  function  under  water.  Second,  the  drying  of  the 
nasal  membrane  in  rhinitis  is  confined  almost  entirely  to  the 
respiratory  membrane,  and  is  conjoined  with  hyperaemia  and 
with  swelling,  which  constitutes  a  mechanical  hindrance  to  the 
passage  of  odorous  particles.  Third,  it  cannot  be  shown  that 
Aronsohn  succeeded  in  filling  the  nasal  cavities  so  completely  as 
to  exclude  all  bubbles  of  air.  It  is  very  difificult  to  drive  all  the 
air  out  of  blind  pouches. 

Against  the  hypothesis,  Zwaardemaker  urges  further:  First, 
that  the  hairs  of  the  olfactory  cells  protrude  through  the  thin 
layer  of  liquid  which  covers  the  membrane;  second,  that  most 
odorous  substances  are  insoluble,  or  soluble  to  a  very  slight  degree, 
in  water.  In  a  room  saturated  with  perfume  or  tobacco  smoke, 
although  a  bit  of  glass  or  of  cotton-wool  will  take  up  the  odor, 
water  will  not.  Gums,  cethereal  oils  and  the  like  are  the  materials 
of  the  perfume  industry.^ 

Gaseous  particles  are  given  off  from  the  surface  of  odorous 
bodies  by  simple  evaporation,  by  oxidation,  by  hydrolitic  changes, 

•  This  discussion  is  found  in  Zwaardemaker's  "  Physiologic  des  Geruchs," 
Leipzig,  1895,  PP-  62-66. 


Physical  Conditions  of  Smell  481 

and  by  more  complicated  processes  of  decomposition.  Some 
strongly  odorous  substances,  such  as  sethereal  oils,  diffuse  them- 
selves in  a  thin  film  over  the  surface  of  water,  and  are  probably 
often  carried  through  the  air  in  the  form  of  Ininute  drops.  Odor- 
ous vapors  diffuse  slowly;  hence  their  significance  in  the  animal 
world. 

We  know  much  less  of  the  chemistry  than  of  the  physics  of 
smell.  Certain  groups  of  atoms  occur  so  persistently,  in  ranges 
of  similar  smells,  that  they  would  seem  to  condition  these  smells. 
Yet  the  total  composition  of  these  similarly  odorous  substances 
differs  so  much  that  we  can  scarcely  believe  the  connection  to  be 
direct.  Zwaardemaker  suggests  that  the  function  of  these  effec- 
tive groups  of  atoms  may  be  analogous  to  the  part  which  chemical 
composition  plays  in  the  absorption  of  different  colored  lights. 
Smells,  he  supposes,  may  be  conditioned  by  ether  vibrations, 
which  are  determined  by  the  intramolecular  motions  of  the  tiniest 
particles  of  odorous  substances.  The  ether  vibrations  must  be 
longer  or  shorter  than  the  light  and  heat  waves.  Since  very  short 
light  waves  may  be  absorbed  by  a  layer  of  air  only  a  few  milli- 
meters thick,  and  since  odors  can  be  detected  only  near  their 
source,  it  is  probable  that  odor  vibrations  are  very  short  rather 
than  comparatively  long.^ 

We  may  hope  for  a  satisfactory  classification  of  odors,  only  on 
a  physiological  basis  and  by  the  help  of  the  exhaustion-experi- 
ments, initiated  by  Aronsohn.  Zwaardemaker  is  certainly  justi- 
fied in  arguing  that  if  certain  zones  of  the  olfactory  membrane 
are  especially  sensitive  to  certain  smells,  these  zones  must  be 
arranged  horizontally  from  front  to  back,  and  not  vertically;  for 
the  height  to  which  the  air  is  drawn  into  the  nose  makes  a  differ- 
ence in  the  intensity  but  none  in  the  quality  of  a  smell. ^  Other 
features  of  Zwaardemaker' s  theory  are  the  following:  The  lower 
cells,  taken  vertically,  may  be  more  sensitive  to  the  heavier  odors 
of  an  homologous  series,  and  the  higher  cells  to  the  lighter.^ 
Cells  are  not  set  apart  to  some  one  stimulus  exclusively;  they  are 
simply  more  sensitive  to  one  stimulus,  and  less  so  to  others. 
Excitations  may  irradiate  from  the  points  especially  sensitive  to 
given  stimuli,  and  may  overlap.  In  case  they  overlap,  we  have 
a  fusion  of  odors.'*  The  great  variety  of  odors  in  nature  is  due  to 
fusion.  It  is  comparable,  on  the  theory  of  this  text-book,  to  the 
scales  of  hues,  tints  and  shades,  not  to  the  pure  tonal  scale. 
When  there  is  no  coincidence  of  excitations,  smells  'compen- 

1  Zwaardemaker,  op.  at.,  pp.  253-254.         -  find.,  p.  262. 
3  pp.  272-275.  *  pp.  278-2S4. 

2  I 


482 


End-organs  of  Pressure 


sate  '  or  cancel  each  other.  Since  compensation  takes  place  even 
when  the  stimuli  are  applied  to  different  nostrils,  there  must  be 
some  central  cancellation  of  excitations.-^ 

It  should  be  added  that  the  details  of  fusion  and  compensation 
are  in  dispute;  and  that  uniform  results  are  by  no  means  easy  to 
obtain  in  exhaustion-experiments.  Such  experiments,  except  for 
purposes  of  illustration,  should  always  be  made  with  an  olfac- 
tometer, and  the  subject's  breathing  should  be  recorded  with 
a  pneumograph. 


SECTION   V 

END-ORGANS   OF   PRESSURE   AND   OF   PAIN 

I.    End-organs  of  Pressure:  Von  Frey's  Theory ^ 

At  least  five  sorts  of  differentiated  nerve-endings  are  found  in 
or  beneath  the  skin.  There  are,  in  the  first  place,  the  hair-bulbs, 
from  which  project  the  fine  hairs  which  transmit  any  movement 

with  accelerated  force  :  many  of  the  affer- 
ent nerves  terminate  in  these  bulbs. 
There  are  also  four  distinct  forms  of  end- 
organs:''  (i)  Tactile  corpuscles  (Meiss- 
ner's),  found  in  the  papillae  of  the  dermis, 
or  lower  skin,  in  which  several  nerves  end. 
These  have  a  soft  core,  separated  into 
several  masses  by  end-plates,  in  each  of 
which  a  nerve-fibre  seems  to  end;  they 
seldom  occur  except  in  the  skin  of  hand 
and  of  foot.  (2)  Touch  cells,  '  of  the 
same  essential  structure,  but  receiving 
only  one  nerve-fibre  each,  distributed  all 
over  the  skin.'  (3)  Pacinian  corpuscles, 
.,     'in  the  subcutaneous  tissue  of   the  hand 

Fig.  18. — A  dermic  papilla         ^      c      ^  ji-^iui  ••*.> 

containing  tactile  corpuscle  and    foot,    and    about    the    knee-]oint. 
(Meissner's).  (4)  End-bulbs,  consisting  'of  a  core  with 

connective-tissue  capsule,  found  on  parts 
of  the  lips,  in  the  conjunctiva,  and  on  mucous  membranes  of 
palate  and  tongue.'  Besides  the  nerves  ending  in  the  hair-bulbs 
and  in  these  special  organs,  there  are  nerves  with  so-called  'free  ' 

1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  284-287. 

2  Cf.  "  Untersuchungen,  u.  s.  w."     (See  this  book,  p.  6S,  footnote.) 
**  Cf.  Martin,  op.  cit.,  pp.  556  scq. 


End-organs  of  Pressure  483 

endings,  that  is  to   say,  nerves  terminating  in  undifferentiated 
cells. 

In  the  fifth  chapter  of  this  book,  von  Frey's  theory  that  both 
the  hair-bulbs  and  the  tactile  corpuscles  are  end-organs  of  press- 
ure has  been  approved;  and  his  theory  that  the  pain-nerves  are 
nerves  with  free  end-organs  has  been  named  among  the  hypothe- 
ses regarding  the  physiological  conditions  of  pain.  It  will  be 
well,  therefore,  to  outline  von  Frey's  methods  and  his  arguments. 
His  apparatus  consists  of  a  large  number  of  light  sticks,  ten  cen- 
timeters long,  to  each  of  which  is  fastened,  at  right  angles,  a 
hair  from  two  to  three  centimeters  in  length.  (For  coarse  work, 
a  horse-hair  is  used,  otherwise,  a  human  hair  —  for  finest  work, 
the  hair  of  a  child.)  The  diameter  of  the  hair,  and^  thus  its 
pressure  area,  is  measured  under  the  microscope.  The  force 
necessary  to  bend  each  hair  is  determined  by  a  delicately  poised 
scale;  the  number  of  grams  of  pressure  is  calculated  from  these 

data.     The  unit  is  therefore  ^^,,    "  the  number  of  grams  press- 

ntm- 

ure  necessary  to  produce  a  sensation  of  pressure  when  the  con- 
tact surface  equals  one  square  millimeter."  ^ 

Von  Frey  holds,  as  has  been  shown,  that  there  are  two  sorts  of 
pressure  end-organs :  first,  the  hair-bulbs,  whose  connection  with 
pressure-sensations  is  proved  by  the   fact  that  hairy  spots  are 
especially  sensitive  to  pressure;    and  second,   the  'tactile  cor- 
puscles,' or  corpuscles  of  Meissner.     These  organs,  as  has  been 
said,  are  most  frequent  on  hairless  portions  of  the  body,  espe- 
cially on  hand  and  foot,  and  are  entirely  absent  from  some  hairy 
parts  of  the  body.     In  proof  of  this  second  part  of  the  theory, 
von  Frey  urges  the  following  facts:    (i)  The  number  of   these 
corpuscles  of  Meissner  corresponds  with  the  number  of  actually 
discovered  pressure-spots.     This  correspondence  has  not  been 
observed  in  the  case  of  any  other  skin  end-organs.     For  example, 
there  are  only  608  Pacinian  corpuscles  in  the  palm  of  the  hand 
—  a  number  far  smaller  than  that  of  the  pressure-spots.     (2)  The 
situation  of  the  Meissner  corpuscles  in  the  dermis  or  lower  skin 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  pressure-intensity  from  a  very  small 
surface  is  not  proportional  to  that  from  a  larger  surface.     For  in 
the  case  of  small  stimuli,  but  not  in  the  case  of  larger  ones,  the 
depth  of  skin  to  be  stimulated,  before  the  corpuscle  of  Meissner 
is  affected,  actually  neutralizes  the  force  of  the  stimulus.     Finally, 
(3)  the  connection  of  the  corpuscle  through  its  two  or  three  nerve 
fibrils  with  several  distinct  nerves,  differentiates  the  pressure- 

1  For  criticism,  of.  W.  A.  Nagel,  Plfuger's  Archiv,  1S95,  Vol.  LIX.,  p.  595. 


484  Physiological  Excitation  of  Pain 

spots  in  a  way  which  closely  corresponds  with   our  keen  dis- 
crimination of  different  contacts. 

It  should  be  noticed  that  von  Frey's  results  contradict  Gold- 
scheider's,  in  that  Goldscheider  finds  in  hairy  areas  many 
pressure-spots  unconnected  with  the  hairs,  whereas  von  Frey 
finds  but  few.  Von  Frey  explains  the  discrepancy  by  suppos- 
ing that  Goldscheider  used  too  heavy  stimuli,  which  initiated 
excitations  radiating  from  the  organ  first  stimulated. 

II.   Theories  of  the  Physiological  Excitation  of  Pain 

Von  Frey's  theory  of  the  physiological  conditions  of  pain  is 
based  on  his  discovery,  with  the  apparatus  just  described,  of  cer- 
tain points  on  the  elbow-joints  and  on  the  cornea  and  conjunctiva 
of  the  eye,  which  are  sensitive  to  pain  and  not  to  pressure;  these 
argue,  he  points  out,  for  the  existence  of  special  pain-nerves,  and 
these  pain-nerves  are,  he  believes,  the  nerves  which  terminate  in 
free  endings,  that  is  to  say,  in  undifferentiated  nerve-cells.  Von 
Frey  reaches  this  conclusion  by  the  following  rather  complicated 
argument:  (i)  It  has  been  observed  that  large  surfaces  excite 
sensations  of  pressure,  whose  intensity  is  nearly  proportional  to 
the  weight  of  the  stimuli,  whereas  this  proportion  is  not  observed 
when  the  pressure-stimuli  have  small  surfaces.  (2)  This  contrast 
can  only  be  explained  by  the  fact  that,  in  the  latter  case,  the  thick- 
ness of  the  skin  neutralizes  the  pressure  of  the  stimulating  object; 
and  this  indicates  that  the  end-organs  of  pressure  lie  deep.  Now, 
(3)  in  the  case  of  pain-stimuli  this  contrast  is  not  observable,  and 
it  follows,  according  to  von  Frey,  that  the  pain  nerve-endings 
must  lie  nearer  the  surface.  The  undifferentiated  'free'  nerve- 
endings  are  those  which  meet  this  condition.-' 

As  has  been  said,  von  Frey  explains  the  fact  that  so  few  parts 
of  the  body  have  been  found,  which  are  insensitive  to  pressure 
yet  sensitive  to  pain,  by  supposing  that  the  pain  nerve-endings 
are  far  less  easily  excited  than  the  pressure  end-organs.  He 
also  admits  the  possibility  that  internal  pains  are  due  to  direct 
excitation  of  pain  nerve-fibres.'^ 

It  should  be  added  that  W.  A.  Nagel  has  repeated. von  Frey's 
experiment,  and  that  he  finds, ^  in  opposition  to  von  Frey,  that 
conjunctiva  and  cornea  are  sensitive  to  pressure,  and,  for  some 
persons,  to  cold,  though  not  to  warmth.  He  explains  von  Frey's 
results  by  the  supposition  that  von  Frey's  hairs  pricked  the  sur- 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  257.  2  Qp_  cii^^  p_  258. 

3  Plluger's  Archiv,  Vol.  LTX.,  p.  563.  Cf.  G.  W.  A.  Luckey,  American 
Journal  of  Psychology,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  109. 


Bodily  Movements  485 

faces,  instead  of  gently  touching  them.  Nagel  concludes  that 
the  existence  of  distinct  pain  nerves  is  unproved.  The  results 
of  his  experiments  incline  him  to  the  Goldscheider  theory. 

In  the  diversity  of  expert  opinion  the  layman  may  well  hesitate, 
therefore,  to  decide  between  the  end-organ  theory  of  von  Frey 
and  others,  and  the  theories,  like  that  of  Goldscheider,  which 
deny  a  peripheral  end-organ  of  pain  while  maintaining  its  sensa- 
tional character.  An  ingenious  theory,  of  this  second  type,  that 
of  Professor  Z.  Oppenheimer,^  may  be  briefly  mentioned.  Dr. 
Oppenheimer  attributes  pain  to  excitation  both  of  cutaneous 
nerves  and  of  the  sympathetic  nervous  system. 


SECTION    VI 

BODILY   MOVEMENTS 

Such  constant  reference  is  made,  throughout  a  treatise  on 
psychology,  to  the  different  forms  of  bodily  movement,  that  it 
will  be  convenient  to  summarize  here  the  distinctions  on  which 
various  chapters  comment  in  more  detail.  The  forms  of  bodily 
movement  are  grouped  together  in  the  following  summary :  — 

BODILY   MOVEMENTS 
A.   Immediate  Movements 

I.  Automatic  Movements.     (Stimulus  :  within  the  organism.     Always 

instinctive.) 

a.   Without  consciousness  }  i .    Once  performed. 
/;.    With  consciousness       i"  2.    Habitual. 

II.  Reflex  Movements.     (Stimulus  :  without  the  organism.) 

a.  Without  consciousness. 

1.  Instinctive")    ,   ,    _  .  , 

2.  Acquired     I  (f )  0"ce  performed. 
(Externally     {  {p)   Habitual. 

imitative )      J 

b.  With  consciousness. 

1.  Instinctive  K''')    Once  performed. 

2.  Acquired     \  (b)    Habitual. 

1  "Schmerz  u.  Temperatur  Emptindung,"  p.  128;   cf.  Luckey,  op.  cii. 


486  Theories  of  Attention 


B.   Delayed  or  Ideo-motor  Movements 
(Following  upon  anticipatory  idea.     Always  with  consciousness.) 

I.    Impulsive.     (Unconsciously  imitative  of  anticipatory  idea.) 

a.  Habitual  (self-imitative). 

b.  Externally  imitative. 

11.    Volitional.     (Consciously  imitative  of  anticipatory  idea.) 

1.  Simple  }  (a)   Habitual. 

2.  Deliberative  j"  (d)    Externally  imitative. 


SECTION   VII 

THEORIES    OF   ATTENTION 

There  is  no  subject  in  psychology  concerning  which  more 
divergent  views  are  held  than  this  topic  of  the  nature  of  atten- 
tion. It  is  almost  correct  to  say  that  no  one  theory  has  the 
undivided  support  even  of  any  one  scholar.  The  following  types 
of  theory — including  those  referred  to  in  the  text  —  are  of 
greatest  importance. 

I.    The  Activity  Theory 

This  theory  distinguishes  attention,  as  an  activity  of  conscious- 
ness, from  the  passivity  of  perception  and  imagination,  thus 
regarding  it  as  a  radically  different  sort  of  consciousness.  In 
merely  perceiving  and  in  imagining,  say  the  upholders  of  this 
doctrine,  we  are  clearly  inactive  and  receptive;  in  attention,  on 
the  other  hand,  we  evidently  assert  ourselves  and  react  upon  our 
environment.  This  is  the  view  of  the  books  written  wholly  from 
the  so-called  'spiritualist'  standpoint,  but  it  may  also  be  dis- 
covered in  books  written  on  an  utterly  different  basis.  Wundt's 
theory,  for  example,  of  apperception  and  attention,  often  pre- 
supposes this  activity  of  a  self.  The  objections  to  the  theory  may 
be  readily  stated.  It  has  been  urged  ^  (i)  that  the  activity  which 
it  presupposes  is  a  metaphysical  entity,  a  mind-activity  inferred 
to  account  for  the  facts  of  attention,  not  an  experience  actually 
observed.  This  objection  certainly  holds  good  against  many 
statements  of  the  activity-theory.  When  Professor  Ladd,  for 
example,  says  that  "primary  attention  is  a  form  of  psychical 

1  Cf.  Titchener,  "  Outline,"  §  36. 


Motor   Theory  of  Alkiiiion  487 

energy,"^  and  again  that  "attention  is  ...  a  striving  and 
selective,  but  self-originating  activity,"  it  is  hard  to  divorce 
from  his  words  a  metaphysical  implication.  Yet  it  is  certainly 
possible,  in  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  to  discover  within  one's 
conscious  life  the  distinct  experience  of  activity  —  a  form  of 
consciousness  which  is  present  in  will  and  in  belief,  and  lacking 
in  revery  and  in  perception.  But  (2)  activity,  in  this  sense  of 
will  or  belief,  is  something  other  than  attention.  This  is  evi- 
dent from  the  fact  that  even  the  upholders  of  the  activity-theory 
admit  that  attention  may  be  involuntary  as  well  as  voluntary 
('passive  '  as  well  as  'active  '). 

The  admission  of  a  passive  as  well  as  an  active  form  of  atten- 
tion is,  indeed,  as  Titchener  has  pointed  out,  a  virtual  abandon- 
ment of  the  activity-theory.  So  long  as  'passive'  attention  is 
admitted  to  be  attention,  and  yet  to  involve  no  activity,  the 
activity  can  be  no  necessary  feature  of  attention.  Certain 
activity- theory  psychologists,  realizing  this  dilemma,  insist  that 
the  activity  is  present  in  the  earliest  stages  of  consciousness. 
But  once  more,  (3)  activity,  in  this  general  sense,  is  either  a 
metaphysical  concept,  or  else  a  synonym  for  self-consciousness, 
not  a  designation  of  any  phase  of  consciousness. 

Both  Titchener  and  Mtinsterberg,  in  different  connections,  urge 
against  the  activity-theory  (4)  that  the  alleged  activity  is  really  a 
consciousness  of  bodily  motions;  and  this  is  probably  true  of 
many  (though  not  of  all)  experiences  of  activity. 

The  theories  of  attention  which  will  next  be  considered  are 
alike,  in  that  they  mistake — in  the  opinion  of  the  writer  — the 
frequent  accompaniment  or  result  of  attention  for  attention  itself. 
Historically,  most  important  of  these  is 

II.    The  Motor  Theory  of  Attention 

According  to  this  hypothesis,  attention  consists  simply  and 
solely  of  what  we  have  called  its  motor  results,  and  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  these  motor  phenomena  —  adjustment  of  sense- 
organs  or  movements  of  the  scalp,  and  contraction  of  inhibitory 
muscles.  The  best-known  exposition  of  the  view  is  that  of 
Theodore  Ribot.-  It  derives  its  plausibility  from  the  constant 
presence  in  admitted  attention,  not  only  of   the  characteristic 

1  "  Psychology,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,"  pp.  34  and  37. 

2  "The  Psychology  of  Attention."  Cf.  Rain,  "Emotions  and  Will,"  and 
N.  Lange,  "  Philosophische  Studien,"  Vol.  IV.  See  also  summary,  James,  op. 
cit.,  Vol.  I.,  p.  444. 


488  Theories  of  Attention 

motor  accompaniments,  but  of  the  little-heeded,  readily  forgot- 
ten, yet  persistent  feelings  of  bodily  movement.  Nevertheless, 
introspection  shows  clearly  that  by  attention  we  mean  something 
more  than  consciousness  of  bodily  motions.  It  is  perfectly  cer- 
tain that  the  terms  are  not  synonymous  in  our  experience.  The 
theory  of  the  text,  which  treats  the  bodily  movements  as  results 
or  as  accompaniments  of  the  attention-element,  clearness,  does 
justice  to  their  significance,  without  giving  them  a  false 
importance. 

III.    The  Theory  of  Attention  as  Affeciton 

This  theory  is  unambiguously  stated  by  Stumpf,^  who  says, 
"  Aufmerksamkeit  ist  identisch  mit  Interesse  und  Interesse  ist 
ein  Gefuhl."  Wundt,  though  he  does  not  expressly  relate  atten- 
tion and  affection,  regards  them  as  alike  in  two  important  particu- 
lars: both  are  referred  to  the  self,"  and  both  are  physiologically 
conditioned  by  excitation  of  the  frontal  lobes.  Titchener,  like 
Wundt,  does  not  actually  identify  attention  and  affection,  but 
calls  them  'back  and  front,'  obverse  and  reverse  of  the  same 
state,  'two  sides  of  one^  experience.'  On  the  other  hand,  he 
does  identify  interest  and  affection.  "A  felt  thing,"  he  says,  "is 
an  interesting  thing  "j  "a  thing  that  interests  us  is  a  thing,  the 
idea  of  which  is  overlaid  with  affection."  If,  therefore,  that 
view  is  correct,  which  is  outlined  in  Chapter  XI.  of  this  book, 
upheld  by  Stumpf,  and  stated  by  James  in  the  words,  "  what  we 
are  interested  in  and  what  we  attend  to  are  synonymous  terms," 
then  the  identification  of  interest  and  affection  amounts  to  the 
identification  of  attention  and  affection,  Titchener,  however, 
would  not  admit  the  identity  of  interest  and  attention,  and  really 
teaches  that  attention  and  affection  (which  he  names  interest) 
are  constant  accompaniments.  In  the  opinion  of  the  present 
writer,''  it  is  untrue  to  introspection  to  insist  that  the  attended-to 
is  invariably  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  though  it  is  unquestionably 
true  that  attention  is  often  affectively  toned. 

IV.    Theories  which  deny  Attention  as  a  Positive  Form  of 

Consciousness 

Two  theories  which  agree  in  denying  that  attention  adds 
anything  to  consciousness  will  be  briefly  named.    The  first  is 

'1  "Tonpsychologie,"  Vol.  I.,  §  4,  11.,  §  22.      ■ 

2  "  Physiologische  Psychologic,"  Vol.  II.,  Chapter  18,  p.  497  ("  Zustande 
die  wir  unmittelbar  auf  cin  Leiden  oder  Thiitigkeit  unsers  Ich  heziehen"). 

3  "  Primer,"  §  y^.  ^  Cf.  Chapter  XL,  p.  141. 


Theories  of  Attention  489 

that  of  F.  H.  Bradley,  who  frankly  insists^  that  attention  is  a 
mere  synonym  for  consciousness,  and  that  inattention  is  pure 
unconsciousness. 

A  more  ordinary  view,  of  the  same  general  import,  defines 
attention  as  inhibition,  or  exclusion.  My  attention  at  a  moment 
of  intellectual  strain  consists,  for  example,  in  the  fact  that  I  am 
not  conscious  of  the  plainly  audible  gnawing  of  a  mouse.  This 
theory  evidently  identifies  attention  with  what  we  have  reckoned 
as  one  of  its  secondary  characteristics,  its  narrowness  —  or  monoi- 
deism,  as  Ribot  calls  it.  Both  conceptions  of  attention  are 
evidently  set  aside,  if  we  have  been  right  in  our  discovery  of  an 
attention-element,  clearness;  for  such  an  element  would  evidently 
distinguish  attention  from  mere  consciousness,  and  would  endow 
it  with  a  more  positive  characteristic  than  its  narrowness  or 
exclusiveness. 

It  should  be  added  that  the  inhibition  theory  of  attention  may 
be  a  physiological  hypothesis  concerning  the  cerebral  condition 
of  attention. 

V.   Theories  of  Attention  as  Elemental  Consciousness 

It  is  difficult  to  point  to  any  one  writer  who  holds  steadily  and 
consistently  to  this  view;  but  the  activity-theories  constantly  tend 
toward  expression  in  these  terms.  So,  Wundt  says,  that  clear- 
ness {Klarheit)  is  an  element  of  attention;-  and  this  statement 
implies  the  existence  of  a  distinct  element  of  consciousness. 
Titchener's  latest  account  of  attention^  describes  it  as  the 
(i)  clearness  of  (2)  a  narrow  experience  which  (3)  is  constantly 
accompanied  by  affections  and  bodily  movements,  and  (4)  is 
easily  reproducible.  This  accords  closely  with  the  conception 
of  this  book;  and  though  Titchener  does  not  define  clearness,  it 
is  easiest  to  suppose  that  he  virtually  conceives  it  as  element  of 
consciousness. 

The  theory  of  an  attention-element  is  also  clearly  suggested  by 
Miinsterberg  in  his  doctrine  of  vividness.  He  does  not,  to  be 
sure,  define  vividness  as  element  of  consciousness,  since  he  uses 
the  term  'element'  in  another  sense  than  that  of  this  book;  but 
he  calls  vividness  a  distinct  'variation  '  or  'dimension  '  or  'value  ' 
of  sensation,  and  explains  it,  as  will  be  pointed  out,  by  a  distinct 
physiological  process.* 

1  Mind,  N.  S.,  Vol.,  II.,  1893,  p.  211. 

2  "  Physiologische  Psychologic,"  4t«  Aufl.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  271. 

3  "  Experimental  Psycholog}',"  Vol.  I.,  Pt.  I.,  p.  109. 

4  "  Psychology  and  Life,"  pp.  86,  95-96.     Cf.  "  Giundzugc  d.  Psychologic," 

P-53I- 


490  Theories  of  Attention 


VI.    Theories  of  the  Physiological  Conditions  of  Attention 

Brief  mention  must  be  made,  in  conclusion,  of  the  theories 
which  have  concerned  themselves  with  the  physiological  condi- 
tions of  attention.  Roughly  speaking,  these  are  of  three  varie- 
ties:^ First,  theories  which  claim  an  afferent  (or  sensory)  neural 
excitation  for  attention.  In  general,  these  theories  ^  suppose  a 
reenforcement  of  the  brain-excitations  which  condition  inatten- 
tive consciousness.  The  objections  to  the  conception  are,  first, 
its  vagueness,  and  second,  the  fact  that  on  this  view  there  seems 
to  be  no  conceivable  distinction  between  the  physiological  con- 
dition of  sense-intensity  (which  is  surely  nothing  other  than 
'reenforced'  cerebral  excitation)  and  that  of  attention.  Yet 
sense-intensity  and  attention  are  psychologically  perfectly  dis- 
tinct.^ 

In  the  second  place,  there' are  'motor'   theories  of  attention. 
The  earliest  of  them  attached  itself  to  the  Ribot  theory  of  atten- 
tion,   as  essentially  composed   of   movements   and    feelings   of 
movement.     It  treated   this  consciousness  of  movement,  after 
the  manner  of  Wundt  and  others,  as  a  feeling  of  'innervation' 
;        or  outgoing  energy.     Ferrier,  James,   Miinsterberg  and  others, 
i         however,  proved  that  this  feeling  of  movement  is  nothing  more 
i         than  a  sensory  consciousness  of  bodily  pressure,  which  must  be 
\         due  to  the  excitation  of  cells  in  the  sensory  pressure-centre  of 
the  brain.* 

A  later  'motor  '  theory  of  attention  attributes  merely  inhibitive 
functions  to  motor  cells  and  to  efferent  fibres  of  the  brain. ^ 
Miinsterberg,  finally,  has  still  a  third  'motor'  theory.  He 
explains  attention  —  or  vividness  —  as  due  to  the  '  intensity  of  the 
discharge  '  of  the  nerve-current  along  the  efferent  nerves.*^ 

The  physiological  theories  of  attention,  which  belong  to  the 
third  group,  explain  attention,  not  as  due  to  the  functioning  of 
sensory  or  of  motor  cells  and  fibres,  but  as  due  to  the  activity  of 
cells  and  fibres  in  the  so-called  association-centres.  The  best 
known  of  these  hypotheses  is  that  of  Wundt,'  who  conceives  of 

^  Cf.  throughout,  A.  J.  Hamlin,  "Attention  and  Distraction,"  Aiiierican 
'Joiinud  of  Psycholoi^y,  Vol  VI IL,  1S96,  i. 

^  Cf.  Kastian,  Kevue  Philosophiqite,  1892,  p.  353;  and  Marillier,  ibid.. 
Vol.  XXVII.,  p.  566.  5  Cf.  A.  J.  Hanilin,  op.  cit.,  p.  13. 

3  Cf.  Chapter  XL,  pp.  140-141.      ^  "  Psychology  and  Life,"  pp.  95-96. 

*  CL  James,  op.  cit.,  II.  492  seq.     ''  "  Physiol.  Psychologic,"  Vol.  IL,  p.  275. 


Theories  of  Attention  491 

attention  as  conditioned  by  the  conduction  of  nervous  impulses 
from  sensory  centres  to  the  frontal  lobes,  and  thus  outward  to  the 
motor  fibres.  The  effect  of  this  functioning  of  the  frontal  lobe 
centres  is,  according  to  \Vundt,  in  the  main  inhibitive. 

The  theory  of  this  book  belongs,  in  a  general  way,  to  this  third 
group  —  that  is  to  say,  the  conception  of  a  relational  attention- 
element,  clearness,  implies  as  corollary  the  hypothesis  that  one 
of  the  association-centres  of  the  brain  is  excited  in  attention. 
The  constancy  of  the  motor  accompaniments  of  attention  makes 
it  highly  probable,  also,  that  outgoing  fibres  function  in  attention. 
In  the  opinion  of  the  present  writer,  our  knowledge  of  brain 
conditions  warrants  only  some  such  tentative  and  general  theory 
of  the  cerebral  conditions  of  attention. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

This  bibliography  is  incomplete,  first,  because  of  the  limitations  of 
its  compiler's  knowledge ;  second,  because  of  the  limitations  of  this 
book,  which  is  a  general  treatise,  not  a  specialist  monograph  on  any 
subject.  On  the  other  hand,  this  bibliography  does  not  confine  itself 
to  English  works,  and  includes  references  to  the  monograph  and 
periodical  literature  of  psychology,  not  only  in  the  hope  of  inciting 
some  students  to  psychological  research,  but  in  the  belief  that  even 
elementary  students  are  the  better  for  a  wide  outlook.  With  a  few 
exceptions,  mainly  in  the  literature  of  experiment,  only  books  and 
papers  of  which  the  writer  has  a  first-hand  knowledge  are  referred  to. 
Detailed  references,  in  the  body  of  the  book,  are  seldom  repeated 
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are  those  which  seem,  to  the  writer,  of  most  immediate  value  to  the 
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(This  is  an  incomplete  list.  In  particular  it  omits  all  works  pub- 
lished, or  last  issued,  before  1890.  For  references  to  textbooks  of 
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notes of  Chapter  XXVIII.) 

William  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  I.  and  II.,  1890.  Psychology, 
Briefer  Course,  1893. 

0.  Kiilpe,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  1895,  Eng.  Tr.  (Macmillan  Co.). 
(This  book  lays  stress  on  psycho-physical  relations  and  measure- 
ments.) 

492 


BibliograpJiy  493 

G.  F.  stout,  Analytic  Psychology,  I.  and  II.,  London  and  New  York, 
1890.     A  ]Mannal  of  Psychology,  1899. 

E.  B.  Titchener,  An  Outline  of  Psychology,  3d  ed.,  1899. 
James  Sully,  The  Human  Mind,  I.  and  II.,  London,  1892. 

Harold  Hoffding,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  Eng.  Tn,  New  York,  1891. 
G.  T.  Ladd,  Psychology,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  1891. 
J.  M.  Baldwin,  Handbook  of  Psychology,  I.  and  II.,  1894  and  1890. 
John  Dewey,  Psychology,  1890. 

Nature  and  IMetiiods  of  Psychology 

Hugo  Miinsterberg,  Psychology  and  Life,  1899.  Grundziige  .  der 
Psychologie,  Leipzig,  1900. 

F.  H.  Bradley,  Phenomenalism  in  Psychology,  Mind,  N.  S.,  IX.,  1900. 
M.   W.  Calkins,   Psychology  as  Science  of   Selves,  Philos.  Rev.,  IX. 

Elements  of  Conscious  Complexes,  Psych.  Rev.,  VH. 

G.  S.  Fullerton,  The  Psychological  Standpoint,  Psijch.  Rev.,  1891,  I. 

Psychology  and  Physiology,  ibid.,  1896,  IIL,  p.  1. 
E.  W.  Scripture,  Tlie  New  Psychology,  London  and  New  York,  1897. 
(Part  I.)     E.  B.  Titchener,  Structural  Psychology,  Philos.  Rev., 
VII.     James  Ward,  ISlodern  Psychology,  Mind,  1893. 

Psychology  and  Nerve  Physiology 

Wilhelm  Wundt,  Grundziige  der  Physiologische  Psychologie,  I.  u.  II. 

4te  Anfl.,  Leipzig,  1893.     (Forthcoming  translation  by  Titchener, 

Macmillan  Co.) 
George  T.  Ladd,  Elements  of  Physiological  Psychology,  1887. 
Th.  Ziehen,  Introduction  to  Physiological  Psychology,  Eng.  Tr.,  189.5. 

Experimental  Psychology 

E.  C.  Sanford,  A  Course  in  Experimental  Psychology.  Part  I.,  Sensa- 
tion and  Perception,  1898. 

E.  B.  Titchener,  Experimental  Psychology.  Vol.  I.,  Qualitative  Ex- 
periments. Part  I.,  Students'  INIanual.  Part  IL,  Instructors' 
]\Ianual.     1901. 

Hofler  and  Witasek,  Psychologische  Schulversuche,  Leipzig,  1900. 
(See  also  periodical  and  monograph  literature.) 

Periodicals  and  Serial  Publications 

American  Journal  of  Psychology  (Worcester);  Psychological  Review, 
(New  York);    Zeitschrift   fUr  Psychologie  und  Physiologic   der 


494  Bibliography 

Sinnesorgane  (Leipzig);  L'Anne'e  Psychologique  (Paris)  ;  Philo- 
sophische  Stiidien  (Leipzig).  Publications  of  Laboratories. 
Monograph  Supplements  of  the  Psychological  Review.  (Cf.  also 
the  philosophical  journals.) 

Psychology  of  Sensation 

(Cf.  throughout  E.  A.  Schafer,  Text-book  of  Physiology,  Vol.  IL,  1900; 
M.  Foster,  Text-book  of  Physiology,  1895,  Bk.  IIL ;  Hermann, 
Handbuch  der  Physiologic,  III.,  1879;  Ebbinghaus,  Grundziige 
d.  Psychologic,  I.,  Leipzig,  1897  ;  Wundt,  Physiolog.  Psych.,  and 
Kiilpe,  op.  cit. :  Titchener,  Exp.  Psych.,  I.,  Instructor's ;  Zeit- 
schrift ;  and  Pfliiger's  Archiv.  For  bibliographies,  cf .  Titchener, 
o]>.  cit.,  and  Sanford.) 

Visual  Sensations 

H.  von  Helmholtz,  Handbuch  d.  Physiolog.  Optik,  2te  Aufl.,  Ham- 
burg and  Leipzig,  1S9G.  E.  Hering,  Zur  Lehre  vom  Lichtsinne, 
Vienna,  1878.  (Cf.,  for  other  monographs  by  Hering,  Hermann's 
Handbuch,  loc.  cit.,  Pfliiger's  Archiv,  etc.)  H.  Aubert,  Grundziige 
d.  Physiol.  Optik,  1876.  A.  Pick,  in  Hermann's  Handbuch,  loc. 
cit. 

(For  further  references,  cf.  above ;  cf.  footnotes  of  Appendix,  Section 
III.;  and  cf.  reviews,  by  C.  L.  Franklin,  in  the  Psyclwlogical 
Revieiv,  of  periodical  and  monograph  literature  since  1894.) 

Auditory  Sensations 

C.  Stumpf,  Tonpsychologie,  Leipzig,  I.,  1883;  II.,  1890. 

H.  von  Helmholtz,  Sensations  of  Tone,  Eng.  Tr.,  London,  1895. 

M.  Meyer,  Ztschr.,  XL    Cross  and  Maltby,  Proc.  Amer.  Acad.,  1891-92. 

(For  further  references  cf.  Titchener,  op.  cit.,  pp.  51,  72.) 

Sensations  of  Taste  and  of  Smell 

(For  references,  cf.  above;  cf.  footnotes  of  Chai^ter  IV.  and  of 
Ajipendix,  Section  IV. ;  and  cf.  E.  A.  McC.  Gamble,  The  Applica- 
bility of  Weber's  Law  to  Smell,  Amcr.  Jour,  of  Psy.,  X.,  1898.) 

'  Cutaneous '  Sensations 

A.  Goldscheider,  Gesammelte  Abhandlungen,  I.,  II.,  Leipzig,  1898. 
Z.  Oppenheimer,  Schmerz  u.  Temperaturempfindung,  Berlin,  1893. 


Bibliography  495 

(For  further  references  to  the  important  German  monographs,  cf. 

footnotes  to  Chapter  V. ;  and  Appendix,  Section  V.) 
F.  B.  Dresslar,  Studies  in  the   Psychology  of  Touch,  Aracr.  Jour,  of 

Psi/.,  VI.     H.   Griffing,   Sensations  from  Pressure   and    Impact, 

Monogr.  Suppl.  of  Psych.  Rev. 

Reactiox-times 

J.  Jastrow,  Time  Relations  of  Mental  Phenomena,  1890.  L.  Lange, 
Neue  Experimente,  u.  s.  w.,  Phil.  Stud.,  IV.,  p.  479.  E.  B.  Titch- 
ener,  Type  Theory  of  the  Simple  Reaction,  Mind,  189.5,  pp.  74, 
.506  ;  ibid.,  1806,  p.  236.  J.  M.  Baldwin,  Types  of  Reaction,  Ps>jch. 
Rev.,  189.5,  II.,  p.  259.  Cf.  Mind,  1896,  V.,  p.  81.  N.  Alechsieff, 
Phil.  Stud.,  XVI.,  1900. 

Alleged  Sensations  from  Internal  Excitation 
Kuipe,  op.  cit.,  §§22  and  23. 


Consciousness  of  Bodily  PosiTioii-ASi 

Titchener,  Outline,  §  46.  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  p^.  493,  499-500,  503-509, 
514,  515.  Ferrier,  Functions  of  the  Brain,  London,  1886.  Breuer, 
Ueber  die  Funktion  der  Otolithenapparate,  PJiilger's  Archie, 
XLVIII.,  p.  195.  Brown,  On  Sensations  of  Motion,  Nature,  XL., 
1889,  p.  449.  E.  B.  Delabarre,  Ueber  Bewegungsempfindungen, 
Freiburg,  1891.  E.  Mach,  Lehre  von  Bewegungsempfindungen, 
Leipzig,  1875.     Analysis  of  Sensations,  Eng.  Tr.,  Chicago,  1897. 

Consciousness  of  Extensity  or  Space 
(Cf.  H.  MUnsterberg,  GrundzUge,  p.  231  seq.) 

Natirist  Theory 

Carl  Stumpf,  Tonpsychologie,  II.,  pp.  51  seq.  (cf.  I.,  p.  210  and  II.,  p. 
550) ;  Ueber  den  psychologischen  Ursprung  der  Raumvorstellung, 
Leipzig,  1873.  E.  Bering,  Beitr'age  zur  Physiologie,  I.  and  III., 
Leipzig,  1861  and  1863.  Der  Rauuisinn  u.  die  Bewegungen  des 
Auges  (in  Hermann's  Ilandbuch,  III.).     James,  op.  cit. 

Empiricist  Theory 

H.  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  Chapters  XIV.  and 
XXII.  J.  S.  Mill,  Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philos- 
ophy, Vol.  I.,  Chapter  XIII.  (Cf.  Bain,  Senses  and  Intellect.) 
Helmholtz,  op.  cit.,  §  33,  p.  947  seq. 


49^  Bibliogi^aphy 

The  Eye  as  "  Organ  "  of  Consciousness  of  Extensili/ 

(Cf.  Sanford,  op.  cif.,  Chapters  V.  and  VII. ;  Titchener,  Exp.  Psych.,  I., 
Instructor's,  §§  46-48;  Aubert,  op.  cit.;  Fick  and  Hering  in 
Hermann's  Handbuch,  III.) 

The  Space  Consciousness  of  the  Blind 

W.  Preyer,  The  Mind  of  the  Child,  VoL  II.,  The  Intellect,  Appendix  C. 
Raehlmann,  Zlsdn:,  II.,  pp.  7.']-85.  W.  Uhtorff,  in  Beitrage  zur 
P.sychologie  (Ilehnholtz  Festschrift). 

Auditor!/  Localization 

M.  Matsumoto,  Studies  from  Yale  Psycholog.  Lab.,  1897.  W.  Preyer,  Die 
Wahrnehmung  der  Schallrichtung,  Pfluijers  Archiv,  XL.,  1887. 
Urbantschitsch,  Zur  Lehre  von  der  Schallempfindung,  ihid., 
XXIV.,  1881.  E.  Bloch,  Das  Binaurale  Iloren,  Wiesbaden,  1893. 
Miinsterberg  and  Pierce,  The  Localization  of  Sound,  Psych.  Rev., 
I.,  1894.  C.  E.  Seashore,  Localization  of  Souiul  in  the  Median 
Plane,  Univ.  of  loum  Studies  in  Psychol.,  1899.  J.  R.  Angell  and 
W.  File,  Monaural  Localisation  of  Sounds,  Psych.  Rev.,  May  and 
Sept.,  1901. 

Tactual  Localization 

V.  Henri,  Ueber  die  Raumwahrnehmungen  d.  Tastsinnes,  Leipzig, 
1898.  G.  A.  Tawney,  Ueber  die  Wahrnehmung  zweier  Punkte, 
u.  s.  w.,  Phil.  Stud.,  XIII.  M.  F.  Washburn,  Ueber  den  Eiufluss 
d.  Gesichtsassociationen,  u.  s.  w.,  ibitl.,  XL,  p.  190. 

Consciousness  of  Time  and  Rhythm 
General 

Hoffding,  op.  cit.,  pp.  184  seq.  James,  op.  cit.,  L,  Chapter  XV.  Miin- 
sterberg, Grundzlige,  Chapter  7.  Z.  Stern,  Psychische  Pr'asenz- 
zeit,  Ztschr.,  XIII.,  p.  332.  C.  A.  Strong,  Consciousness  and  Time, 
Psych.  Rev.,  III.,  p.  150.  M.  W.  Calkins,  Time,  Space  and 
Causality,  II.  (c).  Mind,  N.  S.,  VIII. 

Experimental  and  Theoretical 

E.  Meumann,  Beitrage  zur  Psychologic  d.  Zeitsinns,  Phil.  Stud.,  VIII. 
and  IX.,  1893.  F.  Schumann,  itl^er  die  Schiitzung  kleiner  Zeit- 
grossen,  Ztschr.,  IV.  H.  Miinsterberg,  Zeitausfiillung,  Beitrage, 
IV.,    p.   89.     H.  Nicholls,  Amer.   Jour.    Psy.,  IV.,   p.   84.      L.  T. 


Bibliography  497 

Stevens,  On  the  Time-Sense,  M\m\,  1885.  T.  L.  Bolton,  Rhythm, 
Amer.  Jour.  Psy.,  VI.,  1893.  E.  Meumann,  Unters.  zur  Psych,  u. 
Aesth.  d.  Rhythmus,  Phil.  Stud.,  X.,  1894  (cf.  M.  K.  Smith,  ibid., 
XVI.,  1900). 

Psychophysical  Measurements  and  Methods 

Kiilpe,  op.  cit.,  §§  4-9,  et  al. 

(For  further  references  cf.  Sanford,  p.  362;  and  add,  L.  Martin  and 
G.  E.  Miiller,  Zur  Analyse  der  Unterschiedsempfindlichkeit,  Leip- 
zig, 1899;  E.  A.  McC.  Gamble,  np.  cit.) 

Attention 

(For  references,  cf.  Titchener,  Exp.  Psych.,  I.,  II.,  p.  187;  cf.  also 
footnotes  of  Chapter  XI.,  and  Appendix,  Section  VII.) 

Fusion 
Wundt,  Physiol.  Psych.,  II.,  437  seq.     Kulpe,  op.  cit.,  §  42. 

Association 

Theoretical 

M.  W.  Calkins,  Association,  Monocjr.  Suppl.  Psych.  Rev.,  189G.  Arthur 
AUin,  Uber  d.  Grundprincip  d.  Association,  Berlin,  1895.  F.  H. 
Bradley,  Principles  of  Logic,  294  setj.  Wundt,  Phil.  Stwl.,  VII. 
A.  Bain,  Senses  and  Intellect,  pp.  544-556.  (Cf.  footnotes  of 
Chapter  XXVIII.,  pp.  438-440.) 

Experimental  Studies 

1.  On  Classi/icatinn  of  Associations:  Trautscholdt,  Philos.  Studien,  I., 

pp.  216  IT.  Miinsterberg,  Beitrage,  IV.  Aschaffenburg,  Exp. 
Studien  uber  Associationen,  Leipzig,  1895.  Ziehen,  Ideenassoci- 
ation  d.  Kindes,  I.  and  II.  {.IhhandlutK/n  aus  d.  Gebiete  der 
Piidagogischen  Psych,  u.  Physiol.,  Berlin.)  Scripture,  tJber  den 
associativen  Verlauf,  Philos.  Stud.,  VII.,  1892. 

2.  On  Secondary  Laias  of  Association:  M.  W.  Calkins,  op.  cit..  Part  II. 

3.  Mediate  Association:    W.    Jerusalem,    Philosoph.    Stud.,    X.     (Cf. 

Scripture  and  Miinsterberg,  op.  cit.) 

4.  On  Interference  of  Associations :   J.  A.  Bergstrom,  Amer.  Jour.  Psy., 

v.,  p.  356,  and  VI.,  p.  433. 

2K 


49^  Bibliography 

Perception 
(Cf.  on  Consciousness  of  Space  and  of  Time.) 

Imagination 

G.  T.  Fechner,  Elemente  d.  Psychophysik,  1860,  II.,  XLTV.  F.  Gallon, 
Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,  1883,  pp.  83  seq.  Strieker,  Studieu 
liber  die  Sprachvorstellungen,  1880.  George  H.  Lewes,  Principles 
of  Success  in  Literature,  Chapter  III.  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  Chapter 
XVIII.  Sully,  The  Human  Mind,  I.,  Chapter  X.  W.  Lay, 
Mental  Imagery,  Monogr.  Suppl.  Psych.  Rev.,  1898. 

Memory 

(Cf.  references  to  Burnham  and  Ebbinghaus  in  Chapter  XVI.) 
G.  E.  Miiller  and  A.  Pilzecker,  Exp.  Beitr.  zur  Lehre  voni  Gediichtniss, 
Leipzig,  1900.  (Cf.  Zischr.  VI.,  1893.)  E.  A.  Kirkpatrick,  An 
Experimental  Study  of  Memory,  Pysch.  Rev.,  I.,  p.  602  (Verbal 
vs.  Concrete  Memory).  Cf.  Wellesley,  Psycholog.  Lab.  Studies, 
Psych.  Rev.,  V.,  p.  451  (Modification  of  Kirkpatrick's  Experiment). 
Harvard  Psycholog.  Lab.  Studies,  Psych.  Rev.,  I.,  pp.  31,  453; 
III.,  p.  21.  Princeton  Psycholog.  Lab.  Studies,  Psych.  Rev.,  II., 
p.  236  (Memory  for  Square  Size).  W.  G.  Smith,  Relation  of 
Attention  to  Memory ;   Mind,  N.  S.,  IV.,  1895. 

Thought 

(Cf.  references  in  Chapters  XVII.  and  XVIII.) 

Th.  Ribot,  Evolution  of  the  General  Idea,  Eng.  Tr.,  Chicago,  1899.  A. 
Binet,  The  Psychology  of  Reasoning,  Eng.  Tr.,  1899. 

Recognition 
(Cf.  references  in  Chapter  XIX.) 

The  Emotions 

Classification  of  Emotions 

Titchener,  Outline,  §  56.  J.  Ward,  Encycl.  Brit.,  XX.,  pp.  67,  70.  A. 
Bain,  Feeling  and  Will,  pp.  71-77-  and  heading  of  Chapters  V.- 
XV. 


Bibliography  499 


Personal  Emotion 

J.  M.  Baldwin,  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental  Develop- 
ment, Chapter  VI.,  Section  3.     Hoffding,  op.  cit.,  pp.  242-253. 

^Esthetic  Emotion 

Schopenhauer,  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  Book  III.  George  San- 
tayana.  The  Sense  of  Beauty.  Marshall,  Pain,  Pleasure,  and  ^Es- 
thetics, p.  110  secy.  Heymans,  Ztsrhr.f.  Psijcli.  u.  Phy>!.,  XI.,  Jul}', 
1896.  V.  Lee  and  C.  A.  Thomas,  Beauty  and  Ugliness,  Contemp. 
Renew,  1897,  Vol.  LXXII.  Ethel  Puffer,  Criticism  and  ^Esthetics, 
Atlantic  Montldy,  1901.  (For  further  references,  cf.  Bosanquet, 
History  of  -Esthetics,  and  Marshall,  op.  cit..  Chapter  111.) 

The  Sense  of  Humor 

C.  C.  Everett,  Poetry,  Comedy  and  Duty.  Th.  Lipps,  Psychologie  d. 
Koniik  (includes  criticisms  of  Kraepelin,  Vischer,  Lotze,  Hecker), 
Philosophische  Monatshefte,  XXIV.  and  XXV.  E.  Kraepelin,  Zur 
Psychologie  d.  Komischen,  Phil.  Stud.,  II.  Ziegler,  J.  Das 
Komische,  Leipzig,  1900. 

Bodily  Changes 

The  James-Lange  Theory  and  its  Critics 

W.  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Chapter  XXV.  (Briefer  Psy- 
chology, Chapter  XXIV.)  The  Physical  Basis  of  Emotion, 
Psych.  Rev.,  I.,  pp.  516  .leq.  C.  Lange,  Ueber  Geniiitlisbewe- 
gungen,  Tr.  by  H.  Kurella,  Leipzig,  1887.  J.  Dewey,  The  Theory 
of  Emotion,  Psych.  Rev.,  IL,  13.  W.  Wundt,  Philos.  Stud.,  VI., 
p.  349.  D.  Irons,  James's  Theory  of  Emotion,  Mind,  1894  et  al. 
W.  L.  Worcester,  Observations  on  Some  Points  in  James's  Psychol- 
ogy, II.,  Monist,  III.,  p.  285.  J.  M.  Baldwin,  The  Origin  of  Emo- 
tional Expression,  Psych.  Rev.,  I.,  p.  610. 

Biological  Considerations 

C.  Darwin,  Expression  of  the  Emotions.  J.  Dewey,  op.  cit.,  Psych. 
Rev.,  I.,  p.  553.  (Cf.  James,  II.,  pp.  478-479,  for  references  to 
Spencer,  Bell,   Mantegazza  and  othei'S.) 


500  Bibliography 


Experimental  Studies 

J.  R.  Angell  and  H.  B.  Thompson,  Organic  Processes  and  Consciousness, 
Psych.  Rev.,  VI.,  1899  (with  full  references).  T.  E.  Shields,  Effect 
of  Odours,  etc.,  upon  the  Blood-flow,  Journal  of  Exp.  Medicine,  I., 
1896.  Binet  and  Courtier,  L'Annee  Psychologique,  III.,  1897. 
Binet  and  Henri,  Ibid.  F6re,  Sensation  et  Mouvement,  Paris,  1887. 
A.  Lehmann,  Hauptgesetze  d.  Menschl.  Gef iihlslebens,  Ger.  Tr.,  Leip- 
zig, 1892,  and  Die  Korperlichen  Aiisserungen,  psychischer  Zustiinde, 
Leipzig,  1899.  A.  Mosso,  Die  Temperatur  d.  Gehirns,  Kreislauf 
d.  Blutes,  u.  s.  w.,  Die  ErmUdung.    Miinsterberg,  Beitriige,  IV.,  216. 

Volition  and  Will 

James,  op.  cit.,  IT.,  Chapter  XXVI.  H.  Miinsterberg,  Die  Willens- 
handlung,  Freiburg,  1888,  esp.  pp.  60-76;  The  Psychology  of  the 
Will,  Pxych.  Rev.,  1898;  Psychology  and  Life,  pp.  210  seq., 
Grundziige,  Chapter  IX.,  7.  G.  Stout,  Analytic  Psychology,  II., 
esp.  pp.  130-135,  143-148. 

Belief  and  Faith 

Baldwin,  Feeling  and  Will,  pp.  148-160.  James,  op.  cit.,  11.,  Chapter 
XXI. 

Social  Psychology 

To  the  references  of  Chapter  XXIII.  add 

G.  Tarde,  Social  Laws,  Eng.  Tr.,  1899.  (Cf.  La  Logique  Sociale, 
L'Opposition  Lluiverselle,  Paris,  Alcan.)  H.  Spencer,  Principles 
of  Sociology.  (Cf.  references  in  J.  M.  Baldwin,  Social  and  Ethical 
Interpretations.) 

Comparative  Psychology 
(Cf.  Baldwin,  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  the  Race.) 

Psychology  of  Ani7nal  Consciousness 

C.  L.  Morgan,  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence  (esp.  Chapters  IX.  and  X.); 
Comparative  Psychology  (esp.  Chapters  XIV.,  XVI.,  XX.). 
Wesley  Mills,  Animal  Intelligence,  1898  (contains  'diaries'  of  de- 
velopment of  young  animals).  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in  Ani- 
mals (esp.  Chapters  VII.-X.,  XIX.,  XX.).    J.  Lubbock,  Ants,  Bees 


Bibliography  501 

and  Wasps,  1899.  Edward  Thorndike,  Animal  Intelligence, 
Monogr.  Suppl.  to  Psych.  Rev.,  1898.  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  pp. 
348-35.5  (on  Thought) ;  Chapter  XXV.,  on  Instinct.  Wundt, 
Lectures  on  Human  and  Animal  Psychology,  XXIII.  and  XXIV. 
R.  D.  Yerxa,  Reaction  of  Entomastraca  to  Stimulation  by  Light. 
Contributions  from  Harvard  Zobl.  Lab.,  No.  103. 

Psychology  of  Child  Consciousiiess 

Studies  of  Indicidual  Children:  M.  W.  Shinn,  The  Biography  of  a 
Baby,  1901  ;  Notes  on  the  Development  of  a  Child,  University  of 
California.  W.  Preyer,  The  Mind  of  the  Child,  I.  and  II.,  Eng. 
Tr.,  Appleton ;  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  (a  condensa- 
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Mind,  O.  S.  II.  K.  C.  Moore,  The  Mental  Development  of  a  Child, 
Monogr.  Suppl.  of  Psych.  Rev. 

Topical  Studies:  James  Sully,  Studies  of  Childhood,  1896.  F.Tracy, 
The  Psychology  of  Childhood  (a  summary). 

(Cf.  G.  S.  Hall,  Earl  Barnes,  H.  W.  Brown,  S.  E.  Wiltse,  Wellesley 
College  Studies,  in  the  Pedagogical  Se7tiinary  and  elsewhere,  for 
studies  of  cliildreu's  fears,  self-consciousness,  religious  ideas, 
imaginations,  drawings,  etc.) 

Nature  and  Origin  of  Language:  9.  Romanes,  Mental  Evolution  in 
Man,  p.  138;  W.  D.  Whitney,  Language  and  the  Study  of  Lan- 
guage, p.  426  (cf.  Encycl.  Brit.  ed.  9,  Vol.  XVIII.);  F.  Max 
Miiller,  Science  of  Thought,  I.,  p.  192 ;  James,  op.  cit.,  II.,  p.  356 ; 
Morgan,  Animal  Life  and  Intelligence,  p.  343. 

Synesthesia 

F.  Galton,  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,  pp.  114-154.  Th.  Flournoy, 
Des  Phenomenes  de  Synopsie,  1893.  Bleuler  u.  Lehmann,  Zwang- 
massige  Lichtempfindungen  durch  Schall  u.  s.  w.,  Leipzig,  1881. 
S.  de  Mendoza,  L.  Audition  Colaree,  Paris,  1890.  M.  W.  Calkins, 
Amer.  Jour.  Psy.,  1893,  V.,  p.  439.  and  1895,  VII..  p.  20.  Beaunis 
and  Binet,  Rerue  Philosophique,  1892.  G.  E.  Gruber,  ihid.,  Vol. 
XXXV.,  Ztschr.,  1893.  W.  0.  Krohn,  "  Pseudochromesthesia," 
Amer.  Jour.  Psy.,  1892  (cf.  Bibliography).  D.  S.  Jordan,  The  Colors 
of  Letters,  Pop.  Sci.  Monthly,  1891.  Binet,  ibid.,  Oct.,  1893.  G.  T. 
W.  Patrick,  Number  forms,  ibid.,  1893.  D.  E.  Phillips,  Amer. 
Jour,  of  Psych.,  1897. 


502  Bibliography 


Abnormal  Psychology 

(Cf.  throughout  (except  on  Dreams),  Proceedings  of  Society  for 
Psychical  Research.  Cf.  also  J.  Jastrow,  Fact  and  Fable  in 
Psychology,  1901.) 

Dreams 

Summaries:  Sante  de  Sanctis,  I  Sogni,  Turin,  1899.  (This  is  the  com- 
pletest  work  on  the  subject,  including  introspective  and  experi- 
mental investigation.)  M.  de  Manaceine,  Sleep,  London  and  New 
York,  1897,  Chapter  IV.  Radestock,  Schlaf  u.  Traum,  1879. 
Sully,  Illusions,  Chapter  VII. 

Introspective  Study:  M.  W.  Calkins,  Statistics  of  Dreams,  Amer.  Jour. 
Psych.,  v.,  1893.  Wellesley  College  Studies  of  Dreams,  I.  and  II., 
ibid.,  VII.,  1896,  and  XL,  19U0.  E.  B.  Titchener,  Taste  Dreams, 
ibid.,  1895.  (Cf.  the  classic  work  of  A.  Maury,  Le  Sommeil  et  les 
Reve,  4me  ed.,  Paris,  1878,  and  Ives  Delage,  Revue  Scientifique, 
1891.) 

Questionnaire  Study :  F.  Heerwagen,  Statistische  Untersuchungen  iiber 
Traiime,  Philos.  Stud.,  V.,  1888.  J.  Nelson,  A  Study  of  Dreams, 
Amer.  Jour.  Psy.,  I. 

V  Hallucinations 

(Cf.  bibliographies  in  E.  Parish,  Hallucinations  and  Illusions,  Eng. 
Tr.,  London  and  New  York,  1897.) 

Crystal  Vision 

F.  W.  H.  Myers,  The  Subliminal  Self,  Proc.  Soc.  Ps.  Res.,  VIII., 
pp.  472  seq.     (Cf.  references  in  Parish,  op.  cit.,  pp.  63-70.) 

A  utomatic    Writing 
A.  Binet,  Double  Consciousness,  Eng.  Tr.,  1890,  pp.  23-33. 

Hypnosis 

Albert  Moll,  Hypnotism,  Eng.  Tr.,  New  York,  1890.  James,  op.  cit. 
II.,  Chapter  XXVII.  (cf.  brief  bibliography,  pp.  615,  616).  Cf. 
also  Proc.  Soc.  Ps.  Res.,  and  Revue  de  VHypnolisme. 


Bibliography  503 

Changes  in  Personality 

James,  op.  cit.,  I.,  Chapter  X.,  pp.  373-400.  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  The  Sub- 
liminal Self,  Proc.  Soc.  Ps.  Res.,  VII.,  VIII.  and  IX.  Th.  Ribot, 
Diseases  of  Personality,  Eng.  Tr.,  1887.  Pierre  Janet,  L'Auto- 
matisme  Psychologique,  1889. 

Telepathy 

Frank  Podmore,  Apparitions  and  Thought  Transference.  Gurney, 
Myers  and  Podmore,  Phantasms  of  the  Living,  I.,  pp.  8-95. 

Phijaical  Explanation  of  Telepathy 

Hanssen  and  Lehmann,  Wundt's  Philosophische  Studien,  XI.,  p.  471 ; 
reviewed  by  W.  James,  Psych.  Petu,  111.,  p.  98;  answered  by  H. 
Sidgwick,  Proc.  Soc.  Ps.  Res.,  XII.,  p.  298. 

History  of  Psychology 

Siebeck,  Geschichte  der  Psychologic,  I.  and  II.,  1880,  1884  (through 
Thomas  of  Aquino). 

Structure  and  Functions  of  the  Nervous  System 

(Cf.  Wundt,  Physiol.  Psychologic;  Ebbinghaus,  Psychologic;  Ladd, 
Elements;  James,  Briefer  Psychology,  Chapters  VII.,  VIll. 
Foster,  op.  cit.,  P.ook  III.,  Chapters  I.,  II.,  Sections  1-3.)  Flechsig, 
Gehirn  u.  Seele,  2te  Ausg.,  Leipzig,  1896 ;  Neurolog.  Centralblatt, 
1898.  H.  Donaldson,  The  Growth  of  the  Brain,  London  and 
New  York,  1897  (cf.  Amer.  Jour.  Psy.,  IV.).  L.  Edinger,  Anat- 
omy of  Central  Nervous  System,  Eug.  Tr.,  1899.  H.  Martin,  The 
Human  Body,  Chapters  XII.  and  XIII. 


INDEX   OF   SUBJECTS 

The  Bibliography  is  not  referred  to  except  in  the  case  of  subjects  mentioned 

only  there. 


ABNORMAL  CONSCIOUSNESS,  397- 
423;  phenomena,  397  ff.,  415  ff. ;  an- 
alogy to  normal  consciousness,  413  f. ; 
distinction  from  normal,  415  ft'. 

Abstraction  and  abstract  notion,  224- 
226;  related  to  attention,  224;  to 
generalization,  225  f. 

Activity  (cf.  Self-consciousness,  Atten- 
tion). 

Esthetic  consciousness  (cf.  Emotion). 

AFFECTIONS,  113-124;  two,  113,  122; 
combined,  122  f.;  not  always  present, 
113;  not  'attributes,'  114;  physical 
stimuli,  iisf  ;  physiological  conditions, 
116 ff.;  physiological  theories:  Mar- 
shall's, 120;  Titchener's,  121;  Miin- 
sterberg's,  121.    Of  animals,  366, 372. 

Agraphia,  461,  462. 

Air  waves,  48  f. 

Alexia,  461,  462. 

Alimentary  '  sensations,'  85. 

Altruistic  consciousness  (cf.  Self-con- 
sciousness). 

Analysis,  a  method  of  science,  7 ;  psy- 
chological, 17,  149. 

ANIMAL  CONSCIOUSNESS,  355-381. 
Inferential  study,  355,  380.  Sensa- 
tional :  pressure,  357  ;  'chemical  sense,' 
357  ;  taste  and  smell,  358  ff. ;  tempera- 
ture, 360;  vision,  360  ff.,  364  ;  hearing, 
363  f.  Imagination,  365  f.  Reasoning, 
368  ff.  Attention,  369.  Affections,  366, 
372.  Emotions,  372  ff.,  375  ff  Per- 
sonal and  social,  374  ff.  Experiments 
upon,  358,  362,  371. 

Anticipation,  Feeling  of,  300  ff. 

APHASIA,  460  ff.,  200.  Sensory,  461. 
Motor,  461, 

Apperception,  214. 

Assimilation,  160. 


ASSOCIATION,  159-168 ;  definition, 
160;  classification,  160,  167;  simul- 
taneous, 160;  successive,  160  ff. ; 
'total,'  162;  'partial,'  163  ff. ;  'focal- 
ized,' 163  f.;  reference  to  past  experi- 
ence, 161  f. ;  illustrations,  161  f;  effect 
of  frequency,  recency,  and  vividness, 
167  f  ;  physiological  conditions,  168. 

'  Association-centres  '  of  brain,  117,  135, 
r78,  233,  262,  459,  490  f 

ATTENTION,  137-146;  identical  with 
interest,  137;  elemental  attention,  or 
clearness,  137  ff;  narrow,  138  ;  classes: 
primary  and  acquired,  139  ff ;  not 
identical  with  affection,  141 ;  nor  with 
intensity,  r42;  duration,  142  ;  sugges- 
tiveness,  143;  in  widest  sense,  146; 
relation  to  abstraction,  224  :  physiologi- 
cal condition,  490  f  ;  theories  :  activity 
theory,  486  f  ;  motor  theory,  487  f. ; 
affection  theory,  141,  488;  negative 
theories,  488  f  ;  element  theory,  137  ff , 
489;  of  animals,  369.  In  hypnosis,  406  ff 

Attributive  elements  of  consciousness. 
113-127. 

Auditory  (cf  Pitch,  Noise,  Loudness), of 
animals,  363  f  ;  localization,  496. 

Automatic  writing,  405. 

Balance,  movements  of  8r;  conscious- 
ness of  83 ;  physiological  conditions, 
81  ff". 

Basilar  membrane,  51  ff. 

Beauty,  Consciousness  of  278-283. 

BELIEF  :  A  belief  304  f.,  313  f  ;  distin- 
guished from  a  volition,  304 ;  including 
feelings  of  congruence  and  realness, 
304  f.     Belief  (cf  Faith) . 

Biological  significance,  of  smell  and 
taste,  63  f.,  358 ;  of  pain,  73;  of  emo- 


504 


Index  of  Subjects 


505 


tion,   295    f. ;   of  protective   coloring, 

362  f. 
BRAIN,    development,    449  fT. ;      parts, 

450  f. ;   functions,  452  ff. ;  weight,  460. 

(Cf.  Cerebral    hemispheres,   Nervous 

system,  Association   centres,   Frontal, 

Occipital,  and  Temporal  lobes,  Rolan- 

dic  area.) 
BRIGHTNESS,     sensational    elements, 

42  ft'.,  478  f. 

Cerebellum,  function,  82  f.,  456;  struc- 
ture, 450  f. 

CEREBRAL  HEMISPHERES.  Devel- 
opment, 449  f. ;  functions,  453  ff  ,  27  f. ; 
structure,  456  f. ;  localization,  457  ff. 

Changes  in  personality,  in  dreams,  415 ; 
in  hypnosis,  416  f. ;  subliminal-selt  the- 
ory, 418  f. 

CHILD  CONSCIOUSNESS,  382-396.  Of 
the  baby  :  sensational,  384  ff. ;  affective, 
386  ff. ;  relational,  388  ff. ;  personal, 
389  ff. ;  of  the  body,  389  ft".  Of  the  lit- 
tle child :  likeness  to  adult  conscious- 
ness, 392  f. ;  difference  from  adult,  393  ; 
emotion,  394  f.;  thought,  395;  isolation, 

396. 

Child  study,  382  ft". 

Circulatory  '  sensations,"  85. 

Cochlea,  50  ff. 

Cold  (cf.  Temperature). 

COLOR,  Sensations  of,  18-28  ;  sensational 
eleinents,  19  ;  color  square,  20;  color 
pyramid,  31 ;  complementary,  32;  phys- 
ical conditions,  22  f. ;  physiological 
conditions,  23  ff.  Theories  of  color 
and  colorless  light  consciousness,  of: 
Young,  35  f.,  464;  Helmholtz,  35  f., 
464,  469,  472  ;  Hering,  26  f.,  464  f.,  469, 
472;  Franklin,  27,  39  ft".,  466  ff.,  473; 
Konig,  466  f.,  470  f.,  473;  von  Kries, 
39  ff.,  466  f.,  470, 473.  Contrast,  473  f. ; 
Purkinje  phenomenon,  478  f. 

Color  blindness,  33  f.,  475  f.;  dichro- 
matic, 33,  476;  achromatic,  33,  477. 

Colored  light,  22  f.;  mixture,  32. 

COLORLESS  LIGHT,  Sensations  of,  28- 
42;  number  of  sensational  qualities, 
29  ff. ;  physical  conditions,  32  ff. ;  physi- 
ological conditions,  34  ff. ;  theories 
(cf.  Color). 

Complexity  of  consciousness,  149  et  al. 

Conation,  303. 


Conception  (cf.  Generalization). 
Concrete,    opposed    to   'abstract,'  149; 

opposed  to  '  verbal,'  190. 
Concrete  conscious    experiences,   149- 

156. 

Consciousness,  subject  matter  of  psy- 
chology, 3;  series  of  ideas,  149  f., 
which  are  causally  related,  154  f. ",  per- 
sonal, 151,  not  causally  related,  155. 

Contact,  consciousness  of,  66. 

Contrast.  Visual,  30;  successive,  473 f. ; 
simultaneous,  474!. 

Corti,  Organs  of,  51  ff. 

Clang,  159.  /"^-.T_-___ 

Classification,  a  metljod  oTscience,  7. 
Clearness,     elemental     attention,     137, 

140  f. 
Cortex  (cf.  Cerebral  hemispheres). 
Crura  cerebri,  450. 
Crystal  vision,  404  f. 

Deaf  mutes,  thought  without  words, 
249. 

Depth  (cf.  Distance). 

Difference,  Feeling  of,  43,  54,  105,  131. 

Distance,  Consciousness  of,  97  ff. 

Dizziness,  84. 

DREAMS,  397-402;  methods  of  study, 
397  f. ;  nature,  398  f. ;  sensational  ele- 
ments, 400;  affective,  401;  rela- 
tional, 401  f.;  will,  402;  moral  con- 
sciousness, 402. 

Ear,  49  ff. 

Effort,  317  ff- 

Element  of  consciousness,  17,  21,  103  f. 
(Cf.  Sensational  element.) 

EMOTION,  263-298;  complex  fact. 
263 ;  personal  experience,  263  ff. ; 
particularizing,  264  f.  Personal  emo- 
tion :  classified,  266;  egoistic,  266  ff. ; 
sympathetic,  273  ff. ;  mixed,  275  f. 
Impersonal:  classified,  277 ;  ossthetic, 
277  ff. ;  'intellectual,'  283;  humor, 
284  f.  Physiological  conditions,  285  ff. 
'  Expression  of  emotions,'  294  ff. 
James-Lange  theory,  296  f.  Related 
to  instinctive  reaction,  295  f.  Of  ani- 
mals, 372  ff. 

Ennui,  278. 

Ether  waves,  22,  45. 

EXPERIMENT,  nature,  10  f. ;  descrip- 
tion of  experiments,  30,  32,  33,  34,  55, 


5o6 


Ijzdex  of  Subjects 


68,  70,  81,  212  f.,  358,  362,  364,  371 ; 
reference,  in  footnotes,  to  experiments, 
25.  30.  31.  32.  33.  34,  46.  47.  58,  62,  63, 
68,  69,  74,  77,  78,  81,  99,  118,  122,  138, 
140,  159,  167,  184,  193. 

Explanation,  a  method  of  science,  8, 150. 

EXTENSITY,  Consciousness  of,  89-102, 
106  ff. ;  sensational  theory,  89  ff.,  106  f., 
iio;  empirical  theory,  90  ff. ;  visual, 
89  ff. ;  pressure-extensity,  92  f. ;  sound- 
extensity,  93  f . ;  surface,  95  ff. ;  depth 
or  distance,  97  ff. ;  innateness,  100  f. ; 
of  blind,  496;  localization,  496. 

Eye,  23  ff. 

Facts,  definition,  4 ;  internal  and  exter- 
nal, 6 ;  facts  for  selves,  6  f. ;  public  and 
private,  6. 

FAITH,  305-307,  311-313,  320;  active, 
306;  personal,  311  f. ;  distinguished 
from  belief,  311  f. ;  from  consciousness 
of  reality,  311  ff.;  duty, 312  f.;  conflict- 
ing. 319  f. 

Familiarity,  f'eeling  of,  131,  254  ff. ;  ex- 
periment, 256;  analysis,  259;  relational 
experience,  254;  relation  to  supple- 
mentary images,  255  ff. ;  to  bodily 
attitude,  257  ;  to  pleasantness,  258. 

Feeling,  150. 

Frontal  lobes,  117  ff.,  286,  288  f. 

Fusion,  157-159;  nature,  158;  degrees, 
158;  illustration,  159;  psychic  and 
physical,   158. 

Future,  Feeling  of,  301. 

General  notion  (cf.  below),  indistinct, 
226 ;  composite,  228 ;  associative  of 
simiUirs,  228  f.,  233 ;  verbal,  230;  mo- 
tor, 231  f. 

Generality,  Feeling  of,  nature,  222  ff. ; 
physiological  condition,  233. 

GENERALIZATION,  221-233;  general- 
izing and  general  notion,  221 ;  gener- 
ality feeling,  222  ff. ;  related  to  per- 
ception and  imagination,  222  ff. ;  to 
abstraction,  224  ff. 

Genetic,  psychology,  351,  353;  theory  of 
space,  100. 

Gratitude,  £69  f. 

Hallucinations,  402-405. 
HardnesSL Consciousness  of,  66. 
Hate,  270  ff. 


HISTORY  OF  PSYCHOLOGY,  424-446; 
classification,  425  f . ;  Greek  psychol- 
ogy, 427  ff. ;  Continental  psychology, 
434  f. ;  British  psychology,  435  ff. ; 
associationism,  438  ff. ;  modern  psy- 
chology, 442  ff. 

Hotness  (cf.  Temperature). 

Humidity  (cf.  Wetness). 

Humor, '  Sense  of,'  284  f. 

Hypnosis,  406-413;  methods,  406; 
stages,  407 ;  muscular  disturbance, 
408  f.;  illusions,  409  f. ;  memory,  410  f.; 
post-hypnotic  suggestion,  411  f . ; 
therapeutic  use,  412;  criminal  sugges- 
tion, 412  f. ;  Charcot's  theory,  413. 

Idea,  149-150. 

Illusions,  183-184.  (Cf.  Dreams,  Hallu- 
cinations, Hypnosis.) 

Image  (cf.  Imagination).  Complex  idea, 
185  ff.,  204  f.,  205,  207  ff. 

IMAGINATION,  185-209;  unshared  ex- 
perience, 188  f . ;  classification,  190; 
concrete,  190-197;  visual,  191-194 ; 
auditory,  195;  tactile,  195;  of  smell 
and  taste,  195  ff. ;  verbal,  197  ff. ;  repro- 
ductive and  creative,  202  f. ;  develop- 
ment, 209.    Of  animals,  365  f. 

IMITATION,  331-333.  336-337.  339-342. 
344-345 ;  distinguished  from  repeti- 
tion, 332.  Unconscious,  333.  Con- 
scious: fashion  or  tradition,  340; 
physical  or  psychic,  340-341.  Personal, 
341-342.     Related   to  invention,  343- 

345- 
Indifference,    through   habitual   stimuli, 

116,  119. 
Intellectualist  theory,  128,  129. 
Intensities,    sensational,    nature,    106; 

physiological    conditions,  108,    iiof. ; 

physical   conditions,    108,  no  f.     (Cf. 

Brightness  and  Loudness,  and  cf.  also 

pp.  59,  61,  67,  75,  77.) 
Interest  (cf.  Attention). 
Internal    excitation.    Sensations    from, 

80-86. 
Introspection,  The  method  of  psychol- 
ogy, 8  ff. 

James-Lange  theory,  297,  436. 
Joint  surfaces,  Consciousness  from,  69 f. 
Judgment,  234-240;    a  judgment,  234; 
judging,    234;     nature,    234  f.;     dis- 


Index  of  Subjects 


507 


tinguished  from  perception  and  ab- 
sti  action,  234!'. ;  analytic  and  synthetic, 
235  fl'. ;  abstract  and  concrete,  237  I. ; 
distinguislied  from  proposition,  239, 
from  belief,  239  f. ;  '  negative  judg- 
ment," 239;  physiological  conditions, 
234- 

Language,    related    to    thought,    248- 

251- 
'  Less,'  Feeling  of  (cf.  '  More '). 
Like  and  dislike,  267  f. 
Likeness,  Feeling  of,  131  f. 
Linkage,  Feeling  of,  301  f. 
Localization,  auditory,  496 ;  tactual,  496. 
Logic,    distinguished   from   psychology, 

248. 
Loudness,  Sensational  elements  of,  53- 

54- 

'Many,'  Feeling  of,  131. 

Medulla  oblongata,  287,  450. 

Memory,  210-217;  definition,  210;  com- 
plete or  incomplete,  210;  methods  of 
improving,  211  ff. :  by  repetition,  211- 
212,  association,  213,  grouping,  213 f, 
selection,  214  f.;  verbal,  215  f.;  experi- 
ment, 212;  physiological  conditions, 
216. 

Moral  consciousness,  327-328,  346-347, 
402. 

'  More,'  Feeling  of,  43,  54,  105,  13T. 

Motion,  Consciousness  of,  86-88 ;  of 
body,  86  f. ;  on  surface  of  body,  87  f. 

Motor  organs  of  brain,  117-118,  127, 
286,  288  f. 

Movements.  Bodily,  to  preserve  bal- 
ance, 81-83;  in  affective  experience, 
118;  in  emotions,  288  ff. ;  immediate 
and  ideo-motor,  485  f. 

Muscles,  Consciousness  from,  70. 

Nervous  system,  development,  449  ff. ; 
structure,  451 ;  function,  452  ff. ;  nerve 
cells,  451 ;  nerve  fibres,  451 ;  nerve 
centres,  451  (cf.  Brain). 

Noise,  sensational  elements,  46-48 ; 
physical  conditions  of,  48  f. ;  physi- 
ological conditions,  49  ff. 

Octaves,  47. 

Occipital  lobes,  27  f.,  42,  45,  no. 

Odor  (cf.  Smell). 


Oneness,  Feeling  of,  131. 

Opposition.  338-339,  342-346;  of  re- 
flective social  consciousn  'ss,  338  f. ; 
'simple,'   342;    related    to    imitation, 

343  ff- 
Organic  '  sensations,'  84-86. 

Pain,  Sensations  of,  71-76;  sensational 
elements,  71-72;  only  one  quality,  72; 
differences  of,  72 ;  biological  value, 
73 ;  distinguished  from  unpleasant- 
ness, 71 ;  physical  conditions,  73 ; 
physiological  conditions,  73-75,  484. 

Parallelism.  433-434. 

Paramnesia,  260. 

Particularizing  consciousness  (cf.  Self- 
consciousness). 

Passive  consciousness  (cf.  Self-con- 
sciousness, Attention). 

Past,  Consciousness  of,  259. 

Percept,  complex  idea,  169,  179. 

PERCEPTION,  169-184;  as  complex 
idea,  169;  as  experience  shared  with 
other  selves,  169  ff. ;  passive,  169  f. ; 
tested  by  community  of  experience, 
171  f. ;  implies  something  independent 
of  self,  172  f.;  complexity,  173,  176  f.; 
differentiation,  174,  175  ;  physiological 
conditions,  178;  classification,  179; 
pure,  179;  mixed,  179 ff.;  symbolic, 
182  f.;  illusory,  183  f. 

Peripheral  organs,  104. 

Periphery  of  retina,  33,  38,  466  f.,  470  f. 

Phenomenon  (cf.  Fact). 

Philosophy,  nature,  4  f.;  confused  with 
psychology,  425  f. 

PITCH,  46-53;  sensational  elements, 
46  ff. ;  physical  conditions,  48  f. ;  physi- 
ological conditions,  49  fT. 

Pleasantness  (cf.  Affections).  Through 
novel  stimuli,  116,  119;  relation  to 
feeling  of  fimiliarity,  258. 

Pons  Varolii,  450  f. 

Position  '  sensations,*  81-84. 

PRESSURE,  Sensations  of,  65-71; 
alleged  qualities,  66;  only  one  quality, 
67  :  pressure  intensity,  67  ;  physiologi- 
cal conditions  (end-organs) ,  68, 482  ff. ; 

■  physical  conditions,  71;  localization, 
496.     Of  animals,  357. 

PSYCHOLOGY,  nature,  3  ff. ;  methods, 
7ff. ;  divisions,  12  f.,  351  ff.;  experi- 
mental, 10  f. ;    as  science  of  selves,  6, 


5o8 


Index  of  Subjects 


12,  151  ff.,  352;  as  science  of  ideas,  6, 
12, 150  f.,  352;  individual  and  social,  12, 
152  f.,  331,  352  f.;  introspective  and 
comparative,  12,  352;  normal  and 
abnormal,  12,352;  distinguished  from 
logic,  248 ;  from  sociology,  333 ;  in 
novel   and  in   drama,  322  f. ;   genetic, 

351.  353- 
Psycho-physic  law,  iii,  443. 
Purkinje  Phenomenon,  478  f. 

Qualities,  sensational,  nature,  18,  105  ff. ; 
physiological  conditions,  106  f.,  110  f.; 
physical  conditions,  107  f.,  iiof.  (Cf. 
Color,  Colorless  light.  Pitch,  Noise, 
Taste,  Smell,  Pressure,  Pain,  Tem- 
perature, etc.) 

Reaction-times,  495. 

Realness,  Feeling  of,  124-127  ;  not  primi- 
tive, 126,  329  ;  parallel  with  unrealness, 
126;  in  volition,  301  f.;  in  belief,  304  f. ; 
in  faith,  311  ff. ;  in  religious  conscious- 
ness, 329  f. 

REASONING,  240^248;  definition,  240; 
purely  synthetic,  242  f. ;  analytic,  243  ff. ; 
relation  to  intuition,  246;  advantages, 
246  ff. ;  of  animals,  368  f. 

RECOGNITION,  252-262;  recognized 
percepts  and  images,  252;  personal 
experience,  252  ff. ;  often  called 
memory,  252,  261;  passive,  253;  both 
private  and  shared,  253 ;  physiological 
condition,  261  f. 

RELATIONAL  ELEMENTS  OF  CON- 
SCIOUSNESS, 128-136;  opposing 
theories,  128  ff. ;  discovered  by  intro- 
spection, 130  f.;  enumeration,  130  f. ; 
nature,  132  ff. ;  physiological  condi- 
tions, 135;  physical  conditions,  135; 
in  animals,  366  ff. ;   in  dreams,  401. 

RELIGIOUS  CONSCIOUSNESS,  323- 
330;  definition,  323;  historical  forms, 
324  f.;  rites,  325;  personal,  326  ff. ; 
active,  327;  distinguished  from  moral 
consciousness,  327  f. ;  from  aesthetic 
consciousness,  328 ;  from  conviction 
of  reality,  329  f. 

Respiratory  '  sensations,'  85. 

Retina,  24,  25. 

Rhythm,  Consciousness  of,  497. 

Rolandic  area,  70,  75^,79,81,  iiof.,  ii7f., 
286ff.,  457ff. 


Science,  3  ff.  et  al. 

Scorn,  272. 

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS,  social,  152  ff., 
331,  352 f.  Phases:  egoistic  and  al- 
truistic, 153,  170  f.,  188  f.,  253  f.,  266  ff., 
277ff.,307ff.,3iiff.,  338,  340  ff.,  346  f.; 
particularizing  and  generalizing,  153, 
i7of.,  2i9f.,  264,  277;  passive  and  ac- 
tive, 154,  169  f.,  253.  264,  306  ff. 

Self,  distinguished  from  facts  for  self,  6f. 

Semicircular  canals,  82  ff. 

Sensation,  42,  log. 

SENSATIONAL  ELEMENT,  103-112; 
always  present,  103;  physiological 
condition,  104;  physical  condition, 
104;  classes,  105  (cf.  Qualities,  Inten- 
sities, Extensities)  ;  criteria,  109;  table, 
no;  of  animals,  356  ff.;  in  dreams,  400  f. 

Sensationalist  theories,  128,  130,  438. 

Sensory  circle,  69. 

Series,  Psychological,  43  f.,  53  f.,  105, 
106. 

Skin,  Functions,  67. 

SMELL,  Sensations  of,  59-64  ;  unnamed, 
59  f. ;  classification,  60;  elements,  61; 
complexity,  60  f. ;  fusions,  60,  481; 
compensations,  481  f. ;  physical  condi- 
tions, 63, 480;  physiological  conditions, 
61  ff.,  480;  fatigue  of  end  organs,  61  f. ; 
cerebral  centre,  63  f.;  of  animals,  358  f. 

Smoothness,  Consciousness  of,  66. 

SOCIAL  CONSCIOUSNESS,  331-347; 
forms,  333  ff. ;  mob  consciousness, 
333  ff. ;  reflective,  335  ff.  (Cf.  Self- 
consciousness.) 

Sociology,  distinguished  from  Psychol- 
ogy, 333- 

Space  (cf.  Extensity). 

Strain  sensations,  80-81. 

Sympathy,  272-275;  phases,  273; 
breadth,  273-274;   '  organic,"  268. 

Synaesthesia,  405,  501. 

SYNTHESIS,  157-168;  elemental  con- 
sciousness, 157  ;  objective  sense,  157. 
(Cf.  Fusion  and  Association.) 

TASTE,  Sensations  of,  55-59;  experi- 
mental analysis,  55;  complexity,  56; 
sensational  elements,  57 ;  physiolog- 
ical conditions,  57  f. ;  physical  con- 
ditions, 58  ;  intensities,  59;  of  animals, 
358  f. 

Telepathy,  420-423. 


Index  of  Subjects 


509 


TEMPERATURE,  Sensations  of,  76- 

79;  sensational  qualities,  76  f.;  inten- 
sities, ■]■] ;  physical  conditions,  77 ; 
physiological  conditions,  78  f. ;  animal 
consciousness  of,  360. 

Temporal  lobes,  53,  59,  63,  no,  457  ff. 

Tendons,  Organs  of  strain-consciousness, 
81. 

Terror,  270-272. 

THOUGHT,  218-251;  thoughts,  218; 
thinking,  219  ff. ;  analysis  and  classifi- 
cation, 221  ff.;  related  to  language, 
248  ff.  (Cf.  Generalization,  Judgment, 
Reasoning.) 

Tickling,  Consciousness  of,  66. 

Time,  consciousness  of  (cf.  Past  and 
Future),  496. 

Typical  personal  relations,  321-323. 

Unpleasantness  (cf.  Affections),  of  pain, 
71 ;  through  intense  and  intermittent 
stimuli,  116,  119. 


VISUAL  SENSATIONS,  17-45,  464- 
479  (cf.  Color,  Colorless  light,  Bright- 
ness).    Of  animals,  360!. 

VOLITION,  299-303,  313-319;  an  idea, 
299;  anticipatory,  300  ff. ;  distinguished 
from  antecedent  idea,  300;  indepen- 
dent of  result,  302;  classification,  313; 
outer  volition,  299,  314  f . ;  inner  vo- 
lition, 302f.,3i3ff. ;  with  resident  end, 
314  f.;  remote  end,  314  f.;  simple  vo- 
lition, 303,  315;  choice,  303,  315 ff.; 
without  effort,  318;  with  effort,  318  f.; 
deliberative,  303,  315  ff. 

Wetness,  Consciousness  of,  66-67. 

Wholeness,  Feeling  of,  131,  234  ff. 

WILL,  305-310,  313-320;  active,  306; 
imperious,  307  f. ;  personal,  306,  309  f. ; 
relatively  impersonal,  309  f. ;  tem- 
poral, 310;  classes,  313  ff.  (cf.  Voli- 
tion) ;  in  dreams,  402. 


INDEX   OF   AUTHORS 


Names  mentioned  only  in  the  Bibliography  are  not  repeated  in  this  list. 


Allen,  G.,  196. 
Alrutz,  S.,  78. 
Andrews,  G.  A.,  400. 
Aristotle,  65,  320,  429. 
Aronsohn,  E.,  480  f. 

Bain,  A.,  89,  439,  487. 

Baldwin,  J.  M.,  126,  227,  232,  312,  345, 

388,  390,  445. 
Bastian,  H.  C,  490. 
Bateson,  361. 
Berkeley,  G.,  98,  223,  437. 
Binet,  A.,  403,  405. 
Bonnet,  C,  442. 
Bradley,  F.  H.,  489. 
Brentano,  F.,  239,  445. 
Broca,  462. 
Biichner,  L.,  442. 
Burnett,  F.  H.,  394. 
Burnham,  W.,  260. 

Charcot,  J.  M.,  413. 
Condillac,  E.  B.  de,  442. 
Cornelius,  H.,  444  f. 
Cross,  C.  R.,  48. 

Darwin,  C,  295,  373,  376,  387. 
Demokritos,  428,  442. 
Descartes,  129,  433. 
Dewey,  J.,  295. 
Donaldson,  H.,  188,  455,  458. 

Ebbinghaus,    H.,   212   f.,  465,  469,   472, 
476,  479- 

Fackenthal,  K.,  388. 

Fechner,  G.  T.,  in,  185,  443. 

B'errier,  D.,  490. 

Flechsig,  P.,  117  f.,  121,  135,  458  f.,  462  f. 

Foster,  M.,  52,  70,  75. 

Franklin,  C.  L.,39  t.,  464  f.,  466  ff.,  475  ff. 

Frey,  M.  von,  68,  74,  79,  482  ff. 


Galton,  F.,  193, 198. 

Gamble,  E.  A.  McC,  60,  62,  72,  480  f. 

Goldscheider,  A.,  68,  74  f.,  484  f. 

Hamerton,  P.  G.,  376,  381. 

Hamlin,  A.  J.,  490. 

Hansen,  F.  C,  422. 

Hartley,  D.,  438  f. 

Hegel,  G.  W.  F.,  321. 

Helmholtz,  H.  von,  35,  89,  464,  469,  472, 

474  f- 
Herbart,  J.  F.,  214,  440  f. 
Hering,  E.,  36  f.,  89,  464  f.,  466  f.,  469, 

472,  474  f.,  476  f. 
Hobbes,  T.,  434  ff. 
Hoffding,  H.,  218,  225,  256,  445. 
Hume,  D.,  202,  253,  438  f. 
Huxley,  T.,  226  f. 

James,  W.,  70,  89,  92,  94  ff.,  105,  126, 
131  ff.,  138,  140,  142,  145,  149  ff.,  162  f., 
174,  176,  184,  188,  194,  2oof.,  211,  213, 
216,  222,  225,  244,  253,  295  ff.,  304  f., 
312,  314,  317  ff.,  369  {.,  385,  416  {.,  445, 
487  f 

Janet,  Pierre,  416  f. 

Kant,  I.,  129,  238,  282. 
Kiesow,  F.,  57. 
Kipling,  R.,  359,  366,  375. 
Kirkpatrick,  E.  A.,  215. 
Konig,  A.,  466,  469  ff.,  473,  477. 
Krafft  Ebing,  R.  von,  408,  416. 
Kries,  J.  von,  39,  466,  469  f ,  473. 
Kiilpe,  O.,  58,  67,  IIS,  188,  194,  227. 

Ladd,   G.   T.,    57,    218,    222,   227,    445, 

486. 
Lange,  C,  288,  291  f ,  296  f. 
Lange,  N.,  487. 
Le  Bon,  G.,  260,  334  f.,  338. 
Le  Conte,  J.,  443. 
10 


Index  of  Authors 


511 


Lehmann,  A.,  256,  422. 
Leibniz,  G.  W.,  129,  434  f. 
Lipps,  Th.,  440. 
Locke,  J.,  223,  24s,  437. 
Loti,  P.,  395. 
Lubbock,  |.,  358,  362. 
Luckey,  G.  W.  A.,  484  f, 

Maltby,  M.  E.,  48. 

Marillier,  L.,  490. 

Marshall,  H.  R.,  119  ff. 

Martin,  H.,  482. 

Meinong,  A.,  445. 

Meyer,  G.  H.,  188. 

Mill,  James,  439. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  89,  252,  439. 

Miller,  D.,  233. 

Mills,  W.,  358,  360,  364,  377. 

Moleschotl,  J.,  442. 

Moll,  A.,  407  f.,  410  ff. 

Morgan,    C.    L.,    360    ff.,   368    ff.,   372, 

376  f. 
Miiller,  F.  M.,  249. 
Miiller,  G.  E.,  20,  464  f ,  466  f.,  469,  472, 

476. 
Miiller,  J.,  480. 
Miinsterberg,  H.,    121   f.,  175,  281,  302, 

383,  436,  444,  487,  489  f. 
Myers,  F.  W.  H.,  418  f. 

Nagel,  W.  A..  483  f. 
Nicolay  and  Hay,  260. 

Oppenheimer,  Z.,  485. 

Parish,  E.,  403  ff. 
Paul,  320. 
Pfieiderer,  E.,  324. 
Plato,  129,  427  f. 
Priestley,  J.,  438  f. 

Ratzel,  F.,  327. 

Ribot,  Til.,  369,  487,  489. 


Royce,  J.,  171,  232,  341  ff.,  391,  445. 
Ruskin,  J.,  203. 

Sanford,  E.  C.     (Cf  Index  of  Subjects, 
'  Experiments  referred  to  in  footnotes.') 
Santayana,  G.,  280,  284. 
Schiller,  Fr.,  282. 
Schopenhauer,  A.,  282  f. 
Shinn,  M.  W.,  386,  389. 
Sidis,  B.,  335. 
Sommer,  R.,  462  f. 
Spaulding,  D.  A.,  100. 
Spencer,  H.,  89  f.,  134,  435,  438  f. 
Spinoza,  B.  de,  129,  434. 
Stout,  G.  F.,  239,  445. 
Strieker,  S.,  200. 
Stumpf,  C,  89,  488. 

Tarde,  G.,  331,  338. 

Thompson,  E.  S.,  375,  378  f, 

Thorndike,  E.,  371,  377. 

Titchener,  E.  B.,  67,  121,  123,  141  f., 
184,  236,  400,  444,  486  ff.  (Cf.  Index 
of  Subjects,  '  Experiments  referred 
to.') 

Tracy,  F.,  385  ff. 

Tucker,  A.,  439. 

Tyler,  E.  B.,  324  ff. 

Vogt,  K.,  442. 

Volkmann,  W.  von  V.,  440. 

Ward,  J.,  89, 188,  280. 
Weber,  69,  in,  443. 
Weed,  S.,  400,  402,  415. 
Wernicke,  462. 
Wiltse,  S.  E.,  383. 
Windelband,  W.,  435. 
Wundt,  W.,  47,  89,  114  f.,  121,  214,  218, 
222,  227,  443,  445,  466,  469,  486,  488  ff. 

Young,  Th.,  35,  464. 

Zwaardemaker,  H.,  60,  358,  480  f. 


14   5997 


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